


Little Song

by Torao



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alive Thatch (One Piece), Don't Like Don't Read, Drama, Dysfunctional Family, Eventual Romance, F/M, Garp is not-so-secretly supportive, M/M, Marco just needs a nap, Mpreg, Proud Grandfather Edward Newgate, Thatch lives, Uncle Luffy, dad!Ace, dad!Marco, though Ace doesn’t know this hahaaa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 19:39:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16393925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Torao/pseuds/Torao
Summary: Not only has Ace recklessly gone off to chase after Teach, but now there’s this?Marco just wants some sleep.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m honestly just satisfying my own fantasies with this fic lol. I’ve actually had some of this written for a while now, but haven’t had the guts to post it quite yet. 
> 
> If you find that the whole domesticity thing is a little odd for some pirates, well, I know. A girl can dream though.

The first time Marco feels it is when Ace is already gone. It's been a month since Thatch's almost-death. Teach has fled somewhere they know not where.   
  
Upon awakening from a short-lived night of sleep, deep bags still under his eyes due to all the new paperwork he’d received from Izo that morning, Marco stretches, raising a single arm above his head and using the other to grab his elbow and pull. A short twinge in his back immediately follows. He rubs silently at the spot, down lower than usual. It's a little odd to Marco, of course, at the different location of the pain, but decides to write it off as simple aging. He carries on with his morning routine, grabbing the lavender colored open tee as he shuffles towards the door and schools his expression into the expected solemnity the Whitebeard First Division Commander is expected to have.   
  
Marco's first job is to check on Oyaji.   
  
One might think this is a small moment of time in which father and son exchange a _good morning_ or two, and talk about meetings scheduled for the day. This is only somewhat true. Of course, they still do these customary pleasantries, but Whitebeard has been different lately.   
  
So, when Marco enters the Captain's quarters that morning, he knows that Whitebeard is already awake and prepared with a greeting. Or, more like, a very invasive question. "Marco, have you and Ace considered marriage at all?"   
  
Marco startles, throwing a sharp look at the older man blatantly hiding behind a look of false innocence. This is a first.   
  
Then he sighs, when he realizes it's just one of those days. Whitebeard misses his youngest son, is all. And doesn’t everyone else?

  
"I don't think that'd work out too well, yoi."   
  
The older man chuckles, then descends into coughing, coming from deep within his scarred chest cavity. Marco quickly rushes over to him, and tries to calm his captain down. He's almost at the point of grabbing his medical equipment when Whitebeard puts a large hand over his forearm and, staring solemnly into Marco's own eyes, states, "I know. But I hope you know that I would give you permission."   
  
For a second, all Marco can do is blink. The older man doesn't get so outright sentimental so often, excluding the affection he shows his sons. It's a rare sight. So really, Marco's reaction is perfectly justified.   
  
He sputters, mouth opening and closing with no words coming out. The back of his neck is sure to be tinted a slight pink from embarrassment. He doesn't dare move his arm, though, despite the not-so-subtle request from the old man. Marco can see Whitebeard's mouth tilt in an encouraging smile, the same one he gives to those sons whom he newly recruits, and really Marco should be used to that expression by now, but he's not.   
  
Finally he regains his voice. "But...Ace is still just a kid, yoi."   
  
Whitebeard hums. He doesn't look away from Marco.   
  
"We all need someone in our lives, Marco." The old man states. His eyes suddenly look older than the blond has ever seen them, and the wrinkles around his mouth expand to accommodate a well-worn grin. "Before we get too old to care about things like that."   
  
Marco thinks he should be insulted, seeing as Oyaji sort of just called him an old man. But he's not. All he can think about is the regret he sees in the lines of Oyaji's face.   
  
And in turn, all he can do is nod back. 

————————————

The next island they stop at, somewhere in the New World where blizzards run rampant and fragile ice devours unsuspecting wanderers whole, Marco buys a ring. Iron, with a simple engraved _A_ on one side, and an _M_ on the other. Ace doesn't do fancy, gold rings with sentimental engravings of _I love you_ or _Together Forever_  on the inside; or whatever the nobles of the world do these days. So simple and iron, it is.  
  
The blacksmith who provides it for him heartily attempts to dissuade him from such a "crude" pick for his lovely wife-to-be; the man insists, pointing to a large glass case filled with expensive, jewel embedded accessories, that a rarer metal would be better suited for a lady.   
  
Marco replies by gleefully informing him that though his partner may be _lovely_ , he is certainly not a lady.   
  
The blacksmith shuts his mouth strikingly quick after that.   
  
\-----------------   
  
Upon returning to the ship, Izo gives him a strange look, which slowly molds into a sly grin once he notices how the the blond commander is pointedly ignoring his gaze. Marco heads straight back to his quarters, sparing a quick glance at the unopened door across the hall along the way, and sets the plain black, wooden box down on the work desk.   
  
He doesn't know how long he'll have to wait for Ace to return. An incident like Teach's happens rarely aboard one of Whitebeard's ships, especially the Moby Dick. The way Teach had fled is unprecedented, seeing as the culprit usually can't stand the guilt and faces the old man themselves, or is caught anyways. But...they know Teach isn't a normal human being. They couldn't have expected his reaction to be normal, either. Because of this, Whitebeard had been willing to make an exception just this once. Just on account of these special circumstances.   
  
But, Ace, damn that stubborn bastard, couldn't allow it. Teach had been in his division, and Ace considered himself responsible for his subordinate's actions. It was just such an _Ace_ thing to do. But considering Teach's special qualities, and the unknown powers of the devil fruit he's consumed, nobody knows how long Ace's mission will take, and it drives Marco slightly crazy.   
  
The way he walks into the breakfast hall in the mornings, and hears half of the chatter in the room die down. The way the so-called "veterans" of the crew spare him piteous glances while he works out, staring into space ahead of him. The way Haruta and Thatch offer to switch seats with him repeatedly in meetings, thinking Marco needs to sit somewhere else besides next to the empty chair.   
  
The whole crew treats him like he's some kind of maiden-in-waiting, valiantly praying for the heart of his beloved "knight" to return to him. It aggravates Marco to no end, and he's sure he's unreasonably snapped at someone without meaning to, on at least four separate occasions, reminding them that yes, he can still, in fact, _kick their asses._ Luckily, he hasn't snapped at Oyaji yet, even though he knows his moodiness doesn't escape the old man's notice.   
  
He wants to say that Ace doesn't feel that way towards him, that the younger is too headstrong to know what love even is. If they could even call it that. But Marco knows that that's not true, because Ace knows exactly what he feels, otherwise he wouldn't have accepted Whitebeard's mark; he wouldn't have taken up the position of division commander; he wouldn't have felt responsible for Teach, and gone after him. What's between him and Ace, it wasn't an immediate, spur-of-the-moment emotion. It was a long, felt out process which involved more heart-to-hearts than most people, especially pirates, would consider necessary if it was just a few quick fucks.   
  
He can't say that Ace doesn't feel that way towards him. If he did, then this ring wouldn't be sitting here, and Oyaji wouldn't have brought up _marriage_ with him, for fuck's sake.   
  
So here he is, waiting for his "knight" to come back.   
  
Marco groans tiredly at the thought.   
  
The ring is making him overthink things. He doesn't even know if Ace will say yes. All these sentimental things just don't go hand in hand with the younger man, and he'd probably turn bright red with embarrassment at even the thought of Marco doing something like this.   
  
Belatedly, Marco opens a small drawer in the desk next to him, the only empty space he has left. He places the box with the ring in it, stepping back to sit on his bed once he's closed it.   
  
His back twinges, and Marco cringes a little bit. The pain has increased since he'd last discussed his relationship with Oyaji, which was only a few weeks ago, and he's seriously considering visiting a masseuse of some kind in order to work out the kinks. Having problems like this hinders his role as a commander, as well as makes him less battle-ready should the crew chance upon hostile forces. They need more of the crew to be ready for an attack, without their handy-dandy second division flamethrower to lead them into battle, Marco especially needing to be ready.   
  
For now, Marco tries to relax, pressing firm fingers down into his lower muscles and rubbing in circles. He runs through different treatments in his head, treatments he usually only calls to mind for the sake of other people, and resolves to grab some pain relievers from the infirmary later on, despite the inevitable odd looks. The pressure from his fingers only helps slightly, the muscle knotted and tight beneath his skin, and he doesn't know how this even happened, really.   
  
Quite suddenly, there's a knock on his cabin door, and he startles. Luckily, the person on the other side has enough common sense to let Marco answer before they come in, lest he accidentally injure them in self defense, and he calls out his permission, fingers quickly retreating from his aching back.   
  
Izo enters, looking smug as he closes the door behind him and leans back on it. Marco simply stares at him, waiting.   
  
"Care to explain the box?" Izo finally inquires, head tilting almost comically, as if he already knows what it is and just came to hear it from Marco's own mouth.  
  
Marco narrows his eyes.  "Why do you wish to know, yoi?"   
  
The feminine man pushes off from the wood of the door, his geta clacking beneath him as he moves to stand more firmly in front of the first division commander. When he looks pointedly at the desk chair next to him, Marco nods imperceptibly, allowing Izo to sit in order to achieve the same level as him.   
  
"Come now, I'm your brother, aren't I? Brothers share things with each other," at this Izo smirks a little bit, lips twitching in his contained amusement. "Especially when it concerns a certain logia type and a ring."   
  
Marco can almost feel himself twitch in annoyance at the blatant teasing. It's been awhile since he's really been poked fun at in earnest, especially since Thatch's grievous attack, but Izo still gets the job done on his own. It's strikingly obvious that Izo is just trying to cheer him up, though Marco fails to see how doing the exact opposite of comforting him is going to help, and the awkwardness is just barely showing beneath the humorous expression the man wears. It's relaxing in its own way, even with the twinge still in his back. It doesn't exactly cheer him up, but it will do for now.   
  
"Oyaji wants us to get married," The words come out before he can think to stop them, and his lips turn down at the edges. So much for secrecy. Though Izo already seemed to know in the first place.   
  
Izo's eyes widen briefly in surprise at Marco's outburst, knowing this to be highly out of character and definitely not what he was expecting. He brushes it off quickly though, and smiles at the other man. It's gentler this time.   
  
"Well, I can't even recall the last time you've been this involved in a relationship, Marco. I can see where Oyaji is coming from," Marco still doesn't look at him, opting to stare at the small bookshelf adjacent his bed. He can see the book listing stories of devil fruit encounters on the second shelf, worn out with pages haphazardly sewn back in, and the hardback full of fairy tales on the top shelf, given to him by the crew as a gag for his birthday. Ace hadn't stopped laughing at the latter for a full twenty minutes.   
  
Izo follows his gaze, eyes landing on the novel and flickering back to Marco quickly afterwards. A puff of air is released from his nose in some semblance of a sigh. His hands come to rest more tightly together in his lap, before he tries again.   
  
"The crew hasn't had any marriages happen yet, even after all these years, so I think Oyaji is excited that his sons might actually make it happen. Being, you know, pirates and all, it's not often you come across someone who you can actually keep, let alone want to," At this, Izo pauses, unsure with his next words. "And I think Ace would probably understand that sentiment.  After knocking a little bit of sense into him, of course."   
  
Marco snorts. Izo deems that an accomplishment. 

—————————————

It's been four months since Ace has left--almost to the day, and isn't that surreal-- when Marco feels an odd sensation in his lower body.   
  
He's in the mess hall at the time, forkful of garlic mashed potatoes halfway lifted to his mouth, when something seems to...move. It's like his insides are being nudged. He stops what he's doing, brow furrowed at the feeling, and slowly sets his fork back onto his plate. When he looks down at the aforementioned area, he doesn't necessarily see anything amiss, just assumes it might be a large bowel movement.   
  
Across from him, Izo stops as well, daintily lifts a napkin to dab at the corner of his mouth, and gives Marco an odd look. "What's wrong?"   
  
Marco shakes his head. He's still looking down at his stomach, and is almost about to look back up when it happens again, this time more insistently. And he can tell because he sees his abdomen outwardly _move._

  
His eyes widen of their own accord. His hand moves shakily to the spot where he saw it, and he almost gasps when the thing nudges against his hand. It _hurt_ that time, he thinks, and looks up at Izo warily.   
  
The man has a curious, yet appropriately cautious, expression on his face, because he's never seen Marco look quite so startled while staring at his own body. The Phoenix has always been known to have a masterful control of his fruit, and seems to know everything in relation to his body as head doctor on the Moby Dick, for a good damn reason too. Izo never really saw Marco in the beginning, so he didn't know the Phoenix could look so unsure about it.   
  
"Marco?"   
  
Marco grunts, surprise invading his normally calm demeanor, but there's also something in there that makes Izo stand from his seat with alarm.   
  
_Pain_ . Marco grunted in _pain._

  
"Marco?" He tries again, coming around to his brother's side of the table and pushing the plate of forgotten mashed potatoes away. "Marco, what's wrong?"   
  
He knows that other crew members are starting to notice, shifting to look at them in interest, but all Izo can concentrate on is Marco holding his hand to his abdomen and grimacing. The man bares his teeth, suddenly bending over himself, and grits out, with what sounds like a decent amount of strain, "Hurts, yoi."   
  
Izo's brow furrows. "I thought your healing factor prevented you from feeling this much?"   
  
"Something's...wrong," Marco's face is becoming alarmingly red in exertion. He suddenly reaches out, quick as a snake, and latches onto his crew mate's arm, grip vice-like. "Bay..."   
  
And then, just like that, he passes out.  
  
The entire mess hall is silent in shock for one long moment, a silence they haven't held since Teach's betrayal.   
  
That thought makes Izo spring into action.   
  
He carefully pushes the chair away from the table, and catches Marco before he can fall out of it, holding him up while he yells orders in the suddenly chaotic room. Thatch comes running from the kitchen either of his own volition or Izo's urgent demand, it doesn't really matter, and quickly surveys the first division commander's pale face before gently scooping the man up into his arms. Izo doesn't even protest that the movement will upset Thatch's injuries (despite the fact that the Phoenix definitely would). Marco groans unconsciously.   


When Izo fleetingly looks down at the place Marco had been sitting, he observes what appears to be a...puddle? Some kind of fluid collected on the seat of the chair, and Izo notices, as he looks back to his blond brother, a slight visible dampness on Marco’s backside as well. _Did Marco spill some water on himself?_ The thought arises, but is quickly shoved to the background as more pressing matters regain his attention.

  
Haruta has also rushed over at some point, and presses the back of his hand against Marco's forehead as they move to rush out the door and through the halls, almost bowling over several other members of the crew in their haste. Haruta hisses and withdraws his hand, voice strained as he tells them that the commander is feverishly hot.   
  
Well, _no duh_ , Izo thinks somewhat viciously.   
  
When they get to the infirmary --in record time, one might note-- Bay is already waiting outside for them, seeming to have heard the commotion already. She's equipped with her nurse's belt about her waist and rubber gloves pulled securely onto her hands. The speed with which she directs them to place Marco on one of the patients' beds and simultaneously gives out orders to her fellow nurses is admirable, as is the way she looks over Marco with a professional's knowing gaze, before nodding her head assuredly. Even without a head doctor to guide them, they know the drill and move efficiently.   
  
Izo, Thatch, and Haruta stand in the entrance to the room, looking on with concern while the nurses carry out their jobs. Izo's skin is a pale pallor beneath his makeup, even as he watches one nurse hook up an IV to the inside of Marco's left arm and another place a cold cloth on the blond's forehead.   
  
Marco looks like death.   
  
He grunts in the midst of his unconsciousness, clammy hands coming up to grasp at his stomach like something is trying to escape, brow wrinkling in pain. The nurses can try to sedate him, but they know that he'll just burn through the anesthesia in his system before it actually takes any effect, even with sea stone cuffs on, because Marco's metabolism is so used to working at such a high pace.   
  
For now, they can only keep the fluids flowing while a few nurses try to pin the unconscious man's arms down so he stops hurting himself.   
  
Whitey Bay collects the whole of what happened in the mess hall from Izo, mind working double time as she processes the information. Once she's done, she orders Haruta to go tell Oyaji what is happening, if only to keep him updated, and the young commander scurries off with the threat of dismemberment if he dares to defy her wishes. Izo is relatively sure that Whitey Bay could trash any one of the commanders, bar maybe Marco and Oyaji, in a fight if it came to the wellbeing of her patients.   
  
The nurses are still struggling with Marco's arms. He keeps using haki to fend them off it seems, and Izo grimaces sympathetically. Bay has to come over after she's done interrogating the other commanders, and effectively uses her own haki to pin Marco's arms to his sides while her nurses trap his wrists with seastone cuffs attached to the bed. That doesn't stop him from reaching uselessly for his stomach, however, as his forearms strain against the restraints.   
  
Izo watches as Bay gently guides his hands away again and presses her own on his stomach. Marco whimpers in pain. Bay's eyes narrow in confusion.   
  
She snags a passing nurse, by the name of Lucy, and says something that Izo can't quite make out in her ear, but by the look of it is pretty urgent. Lucy's eyes widen slightly. Bay says something else indecipherable and spares a pointed glance towards Marco's moaning form. After that, Lucy seems to get the message and hurries away towards another group of nurses.   
  
A nurse's cart loaded with a plethora of equipment is pulled bedside, and Bay nods her head at the productivity, finishes writing something down on a clipboard stolen from the end of the bed, then glides back over to Izo and Thatch.   
  
"I'm afraid you'll need to leave now, commanders," She says, pointedly crowding them back against the door. Behind her, the medical team scrambles to don protective scrubs. "We need to prepare for surgery."   
  
Izo's hand snaps out reflexively as she tries to shut the wood of the door in his face, and stops her. He must have heard wrong. "Wait. Did you say 'surgery'?"   
  
Thatch appears to have heard the same thing as his brother, and braves Bay's fierce gaze as he says, "What's wrong with him, Bay? It's not life-threatening, right?"   
  
Bay's eyes soften momentarily in a lapse of concern at his words, but harden again in between one blink and the next. Her jaw is set in a way Izo is familiar with, meaning she really should be doing her job, but will acquiesce to their wishes for now. "No, he should be fine. His healing factor will probably do its job, as long as we get the seastone off of him in time. But whatever this is, his healing factor certainly isn't helping him, which means that we need to access his body to get to the problem, without the devil fruit in effect," She explains shortly.   
  
"So you don't know what 'this' is? You're just going to open him up and risk killing him without his devil fruit?" Izo inquires sharply, tone edged with slight anger and a bone deep desperation.   
  
Bay narrows her eyes. She slides the door closed just a bit more, Izo having released his grip on it, and keeps it open enough to say, "It's either this or whatever is inside of Marco keeps trying to expel itself from his body, which is exactly what the current situation looks like. It's not going to succeed in that either, with Marco's body constantly healing itself, and it'd undoubtedly put our brother in even more pain. Do you really want to see that?" A collective shake of heads. "I thought so." She says, and slams the door in their faces. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I give Marco pain because I know he can take it.

It takes another two hours before they see Bay again.

The sounds of Marco’s screams echo hauntingly throughout the ship, ear-wracking and blood-curdling with the inherent pain in them. Each and every crew member sits down and waits at some point, beyond disturbed. The screams reach to the crow’s nest, so even the man on watch is not spared the agony of hearing the first division commander suffer.

 

The three brothers who had responded fastest (now that Haruta has rejoined them), hear it the loudest and the keenest, piercing into their very souls, it seems. They'd taken to waiting in the hall at first, before they'd eventually gotten the message that they were in the way of their other passing siblings in the narrow passageway leading to the infirmary.  
  
Now, they're gathered in Oyaji’s room, awkwardly trying not to convey the worry they all feel and congregating like children during story time around their father's bed. Vista and Jozu have joined them, leaving the remainder of the commanders to manage the ship.  
  
Whitebeard himself is rather worried at the state of his first son, his concern shaking the entirety of the ship when he occasionally taps his foot against the wood of the floor. His trademark grin had shown itself only to initially comfort his sons, but is now wiped off his face to be replaced by a pensive look that is echoed throughout the room, with eyes that seem to have gained another ten years.  
  
Izo repeatedly clenches and unclenches his hands against his kimono, wrinkling the fabric. He doesn't seem aware of what he's doing, or if he is, he clearly isn't concerned about it.  
  
Thatch runs his hands over his pompadour nervously, making sure each and every strand is in place. He fidgets constantly, eyes darting back and forth between the floor and the door.

 

Overall, the mood is grim.

  
So when the Head Nurse finally shows up and knocks lightly on the doorframe --though she needn't have done so; they had sensed her the moment she emerged from the infirmary-- all occupants of the room, minus Whitebeard himself, stand to greet her. A barrage of questions greet her upon entry, but Bay firmly raises a hand in front of her to stop them.  
  
Her eyes are weary, hair a mess from the covering she'd no doubt been wearing, and her whole aura just exudes exhausted. She's obviously looking to get this over with quickly, despite that it will obviously not, in fact, pass as she hopes. Her jaw clenches.  
  
"I'd like to speak with Oyaji," She begins. A pause. They stare at her, obviously waiting. "Alone." Her sharp tone barters no argument lest they face death by scalpel. "However, you may visit Marco, as long as you're quiet. And only one at a time. He's still in shock, and we don't want to upset him further."  
  
At Bay's dismissal, the commanders all but scramble out of the room in their haste.  
  
The ensuing race through the passages to the infirmary is a highly undignified one not wholly becoming of one powerful Whitebeard Commander, let alone five, but it happens nonetheless, the concerned stares of their crew mates piercing into their backs.  
  
Upon reaching the desired destination, a moment is taken to heatedly--yet quietly, as they still fear the wrath of Bay even when she's in another room--discuss who will go in first.  
  
Haruta and Thatch suggest a game of rock-paper-scissors. Jozu vetoes this idea because it takes too long.  
  
Vista proudly asserts that his bedside manner is the best out of all of them, and stands tall in his argument. The following scuffle that occurs between he and Haruta has Jozu hardening his skin in defense. The third division commander releases a deep sigh, and Izo pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration.  
  
The matter, however, is settled when Lucy opens the door. She takes one look at the quarreling commanders, raises a tired, unimpressed eyebrow--and wow, either she seems even more exhausted than Bay did, or Bay is just better at hiding it--then allows her pointed gaze to fall on Izo. He rolls his eyes in the general direction of his brothers, and this at least makes her lips tilt up slightly. "He asked for you, Thatch," She says, shifting her gaze to the pompadour'd man.  
  
Izo just barely holds back a sigh of relief at the fact that Marco seems at least aware enough to request one of them (even though he highly questions his choice of Thatch). He pointedly kicks Vista in the shin-- _hard_ , mind you-- without looking back at them, then watches Lucy guide Thatch inside.

————————————

Thatch isn't sure what he expected, but it certainly wasn't this.  
  
Lucy grips his elbow the moment the door is closed behind him, promptly leading him away from the sight of half (which is only about seven, really) of the other nurses cleaning highly bloodied medical equipment and shuffling hurriedly around something Thatch can't see, and taking him back to where Marco supposedly is.  
  
The remaining half of the nurses are gathered about the first division commander, and though not quite as hurried as the first half, they still send Marco a fair share of worried looks throughout all of their post-surgical procedures. And for good reason, too.  
  
Marco looks like utter shit. Thatch can't ever recall seeing him this pale and shaken, eyes as wild and scared as they are now. His hair is even more askew than normal, and someone has removed his shirt. No bandages are in sight, of course. He stares at Thatch as the pompadour'd man enters, mouth opening and closing soundlessly, before he emits something eerily similar to a croak that may have been Thatch's name.  
  
Thatch immediately rushes to his side, of course, the nurses making way for him. He grasps Marco's hand tightly in his own, and squeezes reassuringly. "I'm here, Marco."  
  
And, Lord have mercy, he doesn't think he'll ever forget the way Marco's eyes are dulled in this moment, like he's just been put through years of endless torture instead of locked in a two hour surgery. He looks so tired.  
  
The first mate's mouth opens and closes again, trying for words.  The croak of his voice comes back so quietly that Thatch almost doesn't hear what he says. "Baby."  
  
Thatch's brow furrows. "What?" He inquires. _Baby?_

  
Marco clears his throat, gives his friend a pleading look. He tries again. "My baby."  
  
This doesn't help any more than it did before, and Thatch looks to Lucy --who's just finishing jotting something down on a clipboard, lip worriedly pulled between her teeth-- for answers. She meets his eyes, sighs, and seems about ready to explain when suddenly the curtain separating Marco's bed from the rest of the infirmary is pulled back, revealing Nurse Finley with a bundle of cloth gathered in her arms. Lucy's mouth snaps shut, Thatch's eyebrows raise all the way to his hairline, and Marco takes a hitched breath behind him.  
  
"Well, Commander Marco, she may be smaller than most others, but she's as healthy as can be. Came as an awful shock to all of us, she did, but at least she's in good hands," Finley says, smile spreading across her mouth as she speaks. A small whine comes from her arms, and something in Thatch's mind clicks.  
  
Baby.  
  
A baby.  
  
Marco's baby.  
  
Marco just had a baby.  
  
_Marco just had a baby._

  
_MARCO JUST HAD A BABY._  
  
"Oh my god, you just had a baby!" It escapes his lips before he can think to filter it, looking back and forth between Marco and the baby in shock. Lucy spares him a piteous glance as she moves to help Marco sit up, and Finley stares at him like _no shit_ . Marco is too focused on the bundle of blankets in the nurse's arms to really pay his idiotic outburst any attention.  
  
The croak is back, Lucy's hand on his back as the blond leans toward Finley. "Can I...hold her?" Is what makes it out of Marco's ragged throat, and Thatch notices for the first time that Marco has _tears_ in his eyes. Marco almost _never_ cries.

  
Finley makes brief eye contact with Lucy, who nods assuredly, and comes to stand on Marco's other side--the side Thatch and Lucy aren't on. Lucy lightly instructs Marco on how to position his arms, how to make sure the baby's head is supported at all times, Thatch watching all the while as the first division commander takes in every word she says.  
  
Then, Finley places the bundle in Marco's arms.  
  
It's been a long time since Thatch has seen a baby of any kind--especially a newborn, since most of his siblings have been long grown--so he lets his eyes take in the sight of her, mind still slightly numb with shock.  
  
The first thing he notices is the way she's so _tiny_ . She's smaller than any baby he's ever seen, he's sure, and her head is, give or take, only half the size of his hand. It makes him want to snatch her up and begin preparing a filling meal to feed her with, she's so small, and the way she's fussing at the moment just makes the urge more prominent. She looks like a fragile doll just laying there in Marco's arms, though rather more pink and wrinkly than what a doll would be.  
  
The second thing he notices is her hair. A full head of it, though it might not look it at first. The nurses have cleaned the babe up quite a bit, so it must have looked darker when she first emerged into the world, but now it's a light downy blonde, spread across her skull like wisps of cotton candy. She undoubtedly gets it from Marco, though he prays to gods he's not sure exist that she doesn't inherit the way it's grown into her father. He hopes she gets Ace's hair, tousled just so, rough to look at and soft to touch.  
  
_Wait a goddamn second._  
  
_Ace._  
  
Shit.

  
“ _Fuck_ , Ace is going to flip his shit when he comes back!"  
  
That filter has disappeared again, and Lucy shoots him a glare that might rival the one fire-fist would've given him.  
  
Marco glances up at him, momentarily distracted from his little bundle of cute, the look in his eyes conflicted and holding a deep seated pain. Marco has obviously thought of this, and Thatch feels a flicker of sympathy for both of his fellow commanders. Ace being absent is sure to take a toll on Marco, and eventually the hothead himself as he comes back to discover his new child and probably roll in guilt.  
  
But...Marco has a baby. It still hits Thatch with a shock, and he can't imagine what the first division commander is feeling. To not know that you're with child, not know that it was even possible, to not know whether that child will make it after its own birth, gives Thatch a spark of fear and concern for his friend.  
  
He reaches out and lays a hand on Marco's shoulder, out of consolation or happiness for his friend, he doesn't know. All he knows is the tilt of Marco's lips as he smiles back.  
  
"Are you going to name her, commander?" Lucy's voice breaks in. Her eyes sparkle in curiosity, a curl making itself known to the exhausted line of her lips.  
  
Thatch watches as Marco's brow furrows, a light of uncertainty in his eyes. He obviously hasn't had the time nor occasion to think of this before.  
  
However, a sudden spark of memory comes to the fourth division commander, of a bitingly cold day docked at an even colder island, a small group of Whitebeard's top members forced indoors to a warm bar, and the warmer sight of new parents proudly presenting a fussing babe to a crowd of adoring patrons.  
  
_"Aw, how adorable is that?"_  
  
_"You're such a sap, Commander Thatch."_  
  
_"Hey! Don't insult the heart of a true romantic! I bet I'll have ten children by the time you bastards even think about settling down!"_  
  
_"Yeah, right, Thatch!" Rakuyo's voice rises above the cacophony of responding protests. "You can barely keep a girl's attention for three seconds, let alone long enough to have a kid!"_  
  
_"Oi! Just you watch, little Spike and I will prove you wrong yet!"_  
_  
__A chortle, followed by Vista's sarcastic tones, can be heard from next to him. "Spike? What, are you naming your kid after your childhood dog?" A chorus of snickers sound from those around the table, punctuated by a loud snort from their youngest commander as he raises his face from a plate of food._

  
_"Spike is a good name! One of the bravest men I've ever met--besides Pops of course--went by that name!" Vista rolls his eyes heavenward._  
  
_Izo, seated next to a newly awakened Ace, has been quietly observing the whole spectacle with a hint of amusement in his eyes, until he suddenly speaks up. "And if your imagined firstborn is a girl?"_  
  
_He takes a moment to think this over, before nodding decisively. "Kitsy."_  
_  
__An even louder round of snickers resounds from around him, the loudest of all coming from one second division commander, whose head is thrown back in obvious mirth as he guffaws._

  
_Thatch feels himself frown, looking straight at the young fire-user. "Okay, fine. And what would you name your children, oh mighty and powerful super-rookie, Fire-Fist Ace?"_  
  
_Ace stops laughing abruptly. The sudden change from amused to serious almost gives Thatch whiplash._  
  
_"If they’re a girl, Myra." The freckled teen declares without a hint of uncertainty. "And if they’re a boy, then Sabo." The serious expression with which Ace says this makes a few of his fellow crew mates, including Thatch, blink. Ace doesn't seem like the type to give much thought to these things, with the way he avoids all talk of any family but his little brother, and the cautious way with which he approaches relationships in general._  
  
_Thatch feels himself snap out of his thoughts, and a teasing grin graces his lips. "Oh? I've gotta admit, those are pretty decent, I guess. What made you think of them?"_  
  
_Ace flushes at the praise, but remains confident. "Sabo was the name of my late brother." Thatch's eyebrows hike high in surprise. "And Myra..." Ace flushes even more before he continues, "'s for one of my childhood caretakers, Makino. She used to sing lullabies while she worked behind the bar in my village, and they helped calm me down on the shitty days. So, the name means 'little song'."_  
  
_Matching expressions of surprise and fondness for their youngest commander grace every single Whitebeard Pirate's face at his response._  
  
_Upon seeing this, Ace's shoulders hunch defensively, brow furrowed in irritation. "What?! Stop staring at me, you bastards!"_  
  
Now, as Thatch's fingers gingerly brush the golden tufts of hair that adorn the newborn girl's head, a fond feeling curling his lips up into a tiny smile, he thinks back on that day and wonders if Ace can actually predict the future. The newborn has calmed by now, soothed by Thatch's touch and Marco's warmth, undoubtedly, and Thatch can't help but feel the name would suit her.  
  
"How about 'Myra'?"  
  
Both Marco and Lucy turn to him, faces lit with surprise (there seems to be a lot of that today). The fond smile stays put as he explains his choice to Marco, making the other man's eyes soften.  
  
"I see," The first mate says. "I wasn't there that day, so I didn't know that, yoi. Ace hasn't really mentioned wanting kids to me..." Probably because he didn't know it was even an option , goes unspoken. Thatch still hears it loud and clear.  
  
"Well, he'll be glad to know his name suggestion was very useful, in any case." He returns teasingly, intentionally avoiding the Phoenix's eyes.  
  
Marco chuckles. "I suppose so, yoi." He looks back down at his daughter again, committing her features to memory. Thatch chuckles with him, and continues brushing his fingers over her hair soothingly.  
  
"Welcome to the world, little song."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As for why Marco wasn’t showing at all during those nine months, I’d just chock it up to his devil’s fruit controlling his body’s outward appearance. Actually, for anything weird that happens in this story, that’s probably the answer. Just, devil’s fruits.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aside from obvious differences, this follows canon pretty closely. 
> 
> As for those wondering whether or not Ace will live...I haven’t decided yet.

Following the comically shocked reactions from the rest of the crew, and the tearfully relieved hugs from those who were there to witness the huge spectacle earlier, Marco is assigned a day's bedrest, despite his immediate healing abilities and irritation at being further confined to his bed (it really is true that doctors make the worst patients). He isn't allowed to go see Pops just yet either, much to the displeasure of both Captain and First Mate.  
  
Little Myra makes her rounds between uncles in the meanwhile. Each new individual she's passed to, under Marco's careful eye, instantly falls in love with her, faces undertaking the same enraptured expression as they gently cradle her in their arms. Thatch has gotten the most time admiring his niece so far, appearing out of nowhere whenever she gets passed to another and snatching her up mid-pass. Marco, if anything, is amused by the cook's endless doting, though he occasionally butts in to admonish Thatch for hogging the newborn.   
  
By the time it finally comes to feed her, Myra is kicking up a mighty fuss in Izo's arms, tiny fists escaping from her blanket to wave in the air. Izo seems lost, by the way he shuffles around hesitantly and gives Marco and the nurses pleading looks.   
  
Marco gratefully takes her back. The experience is an awkward one, since apparently Marco can breastfeed now too (a shocking revelation he’s not quite sure he’ll get over or live down), but he gets through it with the laughing assistance of Lucy, who used to help new mothers on her home island, and Thatch, who has enough younger siblings to know how this all goes. Thatch shoots Marco teasing glances every five seconds, irking the first division commander as he adjusts his hold on Myra against his chest and tries to get over the odd feeling of a small mouth suckling at his nipple.   
  
Lucy stands off to the side, making notes on a separate clipboard, and ignoring the commanders who are now awkwardly standing around a breastfeeding Marco. She jots something down every few seconds, a comprehensive look about her thin face, chewing on the writing utensil in her hand as she thinks.   


“Marco-san,” She finally speaks up. Marco shifts his attention to her immediately, as Myra continues to suckle happily. “Have you ever heard of men bearing children? More specifically, Devil’s Fruit users bearing children?”

 

Marco furrows his brow, and shakes his head as a negative. It seems even with all of his experience on the Grand Line, this remains unknown to him.

 

Lucy lifts her eyes from her clipboard, staring at Marco in a way that makes him shiver with how it seems to pierce to his very soul. “We have a closely guarded secret on my home island, you see. Occasionally a Devil’s Fruit user comes to us complaining of unusual symptoms, particularly men. My island itself is known for our expertise in pregnancies, so we’ve seen quite a few of these peculiar cases. However, all of them have ended the exact same way.”

 

Marco now wears an expression of intense concern, and his eyes dart to his daughter in his arms before looking back up at Lucy. “Which is…?” He prompts.

 

Lucy bites her lip, eyes serious. “They died while still in birth.”

 

The gazes of the entire room focus on her, incredulous and horrified. Thatch looks pale, and he inches closer to his friend even as Marco holds Myra just a tad tighter against his chest. Izo clenches his fist, angered, and looks as if hell itself will have to get past him before it even reaches their first division commander.

 

Lucy swallows before continuing. “This is the first case I’ve seen where the original user is still alive. It could be due to the particular nature of the fruit, but I’m not exactly sure. All I know is that this is a miracle.”

 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Rakuyo, who has been standing off to the side until now, interrupts. “What do you mean by ‘original’?”

 

“The original Devil’s Fruit user. The one who ate the Fruit in the first place, and gave birth to the child. Oddly enough,” And here she spares a nervous glance at the newborn held fast to Marco, slowly fading into sleep as she finishes her meal. “The child mysteriously inherits the powers of their parent, even though they never directly

ate the Fruit itself.”

 

Silence.

 

Utter shock engulfs the entire room, eyes wide and jaws clenched tightly, hearts beating loudly enough to be heard in the deafening silence. Lucy clutches the clipboard against her chest, unconsciously mimicking Marco in the grip on his daughter. No one dares to speak, the weight of such a revelation too much to handle at once, even for such a powerful crew of pirates.

 

Marco’s face drains of all remaining blood, and he remains in a continuously blanched state as he absorbs the true danger he went through in delivering this child, despite the fact that he had no idea of his pregnancy. He looks down at Myra, feels her small chest rising and falling against his hand as she sleeps, utterly zonked out. His thoughts run a mile a minute, going through every single tale he’s heard of Devil’s Fruit users disappearing under mysterious circumstances, and then new users popping up out of nowhere, some merely children, but most reportedly looking uncannily like younger versions of the previous user. There can only ever be one user at a time, so many people, including Marco himself, had simply assumed the previous user had passed on and left their fruit to be eaten by another. But, with this...

 

A specific thought grasps his mind with a startling urgency, and he forces himself to break his gaze away from Myra and back towards Lucy. He raises the one hand not holding his daughter to hover in front of his face, shaking. He clears his throat, breaking the silence. “So...if I can’t summon my fire, then she…” Marco struggles with the words, and his hand seems to shake even more, making it hard to concentrate.

 

Thatch gulps from next to him, understanding the meaning behind Marco’s thoughts. If Marco can no longer control his Devil’s Fruit, then the Whitebeard Pirates will have lost a major player in terms of firepower. Sure, Marco is plenty strong without his powers, but his abilities also give the crew a sense of confidence, boosting morale and providing motivation to get stronger, not even mentioning how useful the Phoenix’s “Flames of Rebirth” is in healing injuries.

 

The cook watches his brother intensely, eyes fixed on the blond’s hand.

 

Lucy also takes note of his actions, and does the same, nervous gaze fluttering about Marco’s skin, watching for signs.

 

With more concentration than would normally be needed for such a feat, Marco focuses on the feeling deep inside of him, grabbing tightly onto it and _tugging._

 

Blue fire _pops_ into being before his eyes, and he sighs in utter relief along with the majority of the room, sinking back against his pillows once more. However, he can still sense that something is amiss, and looks up to meet Thatch’s relieved, yet curious, gaze as the fourth division commander obviously ponders something.

 

“What, Thatch?” Marco asks hoarsely, already feeling exhausted from the stress of the affair. He’s beginning to feel a headache come on when Thatch looks down to Myra once again, curiosity turned upon the babe in a way Marco doesn’t necessarily like.

 

“Since you still have your powers, Marco, that would mean she didn’t inherit them, right?”

 

Alarm bells go off in Marco’s head as more curious gazes turn to his innocent, sleeping daughter. If they’re contemplating what he thinks they are, then…

 

“ _Oh, hell no,_ ” Marco hisses loudly. “You are _not_ going to test out your little theories on my daughter. Especially when said theories probably involve _hurting her,_ yoi. _Hell_ to the _no.”_

 

Izo, who had inched closer to get a better look at the newborn, backs up again, hands held up in a gesture of surrender. “We were planning on doing no such thing, Marco.” Thatch grunts as his fellow cross dressing commander stomps harshly on his foot, and shakes himself quickly of his interested expression.

 

“Um, uh, yeah, of course, Marco! We weren’t going to hurt her or anything!” Marco shoots him a particularly terrifying glare, and he shrinks back just a bit more out of self-preservation. “Really! So you should stop your scary looks ‘cause you’re bound to get stuck like that and you’ll look exactly like Ace and then we’ll have to call you ‘murderous pineapple’ instead of ‘grumpy pineapple’ and nobody, including your daughter, will be able to tell you and Ace apar-“

 

Several kicks, mainly from the commanders nearby, interrupt Thatch as he rambles. Marco’s glare has intensified to a soul-freezing level with each word, and many of the rooms’ occupants are afraid of what will happen if Thatch continues, not to mention that the fourth division commander sounds like an idiot of a nervous wreck anyways. He immediately shuts up, biting his lip and looking away from his brother.

 

Marco lets his glare fade away and watches how the room relaxes slightly. “There will be no experimenting on my child, yoi. If she did inherit my powers, then it will show up soon enough, and we’ll know what to look for.” He says, keeping his gaze locked firmly on Thatch. “However, if I catch _any of you_ causing harm to my child in any intentional or suspicious way, then you will _suffer_ , yoi. Am I clear?”

 

Each and every Whitebeard Pirate in the room straightens up immediately, spider-like shivers crawling across their skin as they snap to attention.

 

“ _Aye, Commander Marco!_ ”

 

Marco nods his head, clutches Myra more securely in his arms, and relaxes back into his pillows, satisfied that the level of terror he has just instilled in them will deter any unwise choices.

—————————————

When the time finally comes and Marco is discharged from the medical wing, almost a day later, the whole crew is abuzz with the news of little Myra and her unexpected arrival. The general atmosphere is one of excitement, with a splattering of shock and wariness amongst a few, and the occasional scornful disapproval at having a baby aboard a pirate ship. And although the reactions of his brothers and sisters matter to him, Marco is far more concerned with those of two specific people. One of which is not present, and can’t be helped much but to repeatedly try and contact their youngest commander’s den den mushi, without success so far. But the other…

 

Well, to say Oyaji is excited would be an understatement.

 

The giant man unintentionally starts shaking the ship and the surrounding seas with his powers the moment he hears that his oldest son and first grandchild have been released, his apprehension is so great. Marco, well enough used to the tremors underneath his feet, carries his charge to Oyaji’s room with little trouble, and watches as his more inexperienced siblings walk like buffoons down the halls.

 

When he reaches the door to his father’s bedroom, he doesn’t even knock. He just stands there for a few seconds, waiting, and the tremors die down almost abruptly (he hears several of his brothers nearby sigh in relief), followed by a gruff voice granting him entry. He spares one amused glance down at Myra, still sleeping soundly despite the racket, and opens the door to enter.

 

Marco watches Oyaji’s face sag in what must be relief at seeing his eldest son safe and unaffected by his recent trials, and it warms his heart.

 

But, what makes Marco’s heart absolutely melt, is that he can see the second Oyaji’s gaze lands on little Myra, securely held to her father’s chest, and Whitebeard, strongest man in the world, feared by pirates and marines alike across the seas, lights up with a joy in his eyes resembling a puppy, then actually _cooes._ The noise makes Marco only mildly uncomfortable, but he guesses that he shouldn’t be surprised.

 

As he closes the door behind him and steps further into the room, he can tell that his father’s gaze barely falters. The stare is focused even as Marco pulls up a chair with one hand and readjusts Myra with his other, situating himself and the babe so they’re both comfortable. Whitebeard only pulls his eyes up when Marco clears his throat pointedly, and his face softens more if that’s even possible.

 

“Ah, my son,” The giant man says. “Congratulations are in order, it seems.”

 

Marco chuckles, a tired, weary thing that speaks of his continued recovery. This whole encounter is something surreal, in ways that he would never have imagined three days ago, but despite the bone deep exhaustion, despite the pain he went through to get here, he can’t quite regret it. He feels happier than he expected he would, that’s for sure.

 

“Thank you, Oyaji,” He says, and pauses as Myra squirms in her little yellow blanket (someone in Izo’s division had offered it up; a hand-me-down, no doubt, but Marco was still oddly touched by the gift). She gives a quiet whine, soft with sleep, and stirs as she emerges from the dregs of her nap. Marco looks down at her, and glances back up at Oyaji before he smiles, and says, “Would you like to hold her, yoi?”

 

A large grin splits Oyaji’s face, and he holds out a single large hand in what seems to Marco like eagerness.

 

For his part, Marco barely hesitates before he gently, carefully transitions the newborn into the palm of the strongest man in the world, supporting her neck all the while. Oyaji holds her like she's something fragile, worth sacrificing the entire world for, just waiting to be doted on by hundreds of aunts and uncles and one singular, powerful grandfather.

 

...And her parents, of course.

 

Marco has little doubt that Ace will love his daughter, once he finds out about her. She appears to have inherited the silvery grey eyes of her hot-headed father, the strong jawline that is undeniably a family trait, and Marco surmises that he can already see just a smattering of pale freckles along her nose, despite the fact that it may just be wishful thinking on his part. Or it's just him missing Ace, seeing things in his newborn daughter that have yet to even fully develop. Really, Marco just knows.

 

To put it simply, Ace may have his complexities, but the one thing Marco knows about him is this: He will love and protect those he considers precious to him, even if he will not do the same for himself. He throws himself into caring for his family at times with a recklessness that is both foolish and admirable. And just as he knows this, Marco knows Ace will come to love the daughter he'd not known of.

 

“She looks very much like Ace, gurarara!” Oyaji’s rumbling laughter pierces his thoughts, and his eyes soften as he watches Myra stare sleepily up at her grandfather. The large man lifts a single trunk-sized finger from his other hand and holds it over the newborn’s face for a moment, gaining her attention, and begins wiggling it back and forth while making the single oddest facial expression Marco has ever seen on him in the background.

 

“I’m glad I’m not just hallucinating things then, yoi,” Marco snarkily replies, and also tries not to think of how much Myra’s post-nap expression already resembles Ace’s, or if she’ll inherit his narcolepsy somehow. Anymore of that and he’ll start getting unnecessarily depressed by the moment. “We’ll need to stop at an island as soon as possible. We can’t go long without some proper supplies for her.”

 

Oyaji leans back at this, Myra still cooing sweetly in the palm of his hand. “Of course, my son. She will get what she needs and possibly more. We’ll need to section off some of the budget for her too,” He says, grin lingering at all the details having an infant aboard truly require considering, no doubt. Marco wholeheartedly shares the feeling.

 

They discuss trivial things for a bit, Marco feeling as if he’s entered some kind of hazy dream. The subject of a nursery comes up, as do sleeping arrangements and adjustments to the watch schedule. Overall, the tone of conversation isn’t any different from what it usually is between them, although the topic might be, and it feels surreal, this normalcy, as if this was meant to happen eventually and they’d always been prepared for it. Of course, it’s really anything _but_ normal, and the quiet peace they’ve allowed must be broke at some point.

 

“Has there been any word from Ace, my son?”

 

Marco’s heart tugs at the question, jumping in anxiety.

 

Oyaji is currently looking down at the newborn, after she made a particularly loud whine, but Marco doesn’t doubt he’s sensed the tension ratcheting up in the room. Nor does he doubt that Oyaji already knows what kind of expression he’s making, face scrunched up in frustration, stress, and a smidgen of fear.

 

Marco takes a deep breath, and delivers the less-than-favorable news. “He was reportedly seen in Alabasta over two months ago, but that’s the last time there was word of him, yoi. The marines have given very few details so far regarding their encounter with him, but we do know he had contact with another group of pirates while he was there. From what Haruta’s division has gathered, with some careful prodding of the locals, Ace seems to have been protecting the pirates,” Marco takes a moment to phrase his next words. “There was a rumor that Blackbeard was sighted in the area, as well, which may well be the reason Ace was even in Alabasta, yoi.”

 

Oyaji takes a moment to consider this information, his gaze thoughtful as he watches Myra start to kick up more of a fuss. It’s probably getting close to feeding time for her, Marco muses.

 

“I see,” He says eventually. He raises his head to look at his eldest son. “And the group of pirates he made contact with? Has there been any word of them since then?”

 

Marco nods, crossing his arms. “Rookies. Haruta has identified them as the Straw Hat Pirates, judging by eyewitness accounts and recent bounty increases for a few of their crew. Including their captain, Straw Hat Luffy. Ace must have met his little brother there, but didn’t stick around to partake in any other shenanigans the rookies might have started, yoi,” He pauses a moment, taking the chance to gather Myra back into his arms after she begins to cry rather shrilly. She doesn’t settle any more against his chest, however, and Marco decides it’s definitely feeding time after this meeting. “The Straw Hats were most recently sighted making their way to the Florian Triangle area, whereas Blackbeard was sighted elsewhere, so we can assume that Ace is not with them, yoi.”

 

Whitebeard frowns, a concerned and deeply troubled expression. “And there has been no further word of him?” Marco shakes his head. “Ah. Then keep looking. If he doesn’t show up in the next two weeks we’ll send out a party to physically search for him.”

 

“Of course, yoi.”

—————————————

It’s only a few days later when it happens. Everyone, including Marco, had expected it to happen (if it happened at all, really) much, much later than this.

 

Marco is sitting in the rocking chair in his quarters, trying desperately to rock Myra to sleep. He needs it to happen, he really does, because he has dark circles beneath his eyes, and even though it might’ve seemed like it at first, Myra really hasn’t inherited Ace’s ability to sleep peacefully through the night. She wakes him almost every hour, it feels like, and he just wants to lay down in his bed for once and get _at least_ four hours of well deserved shut-eye.

 

So, he’s sitting there, a steady, now-familiar rhythm going, when he feels the newborn shift slightly in his arms.

 

He sighs. He’d really thought she was close, after all, but he can’t say this wasn’t anticipated.

 

Marco looks down at her, expecting to find familiar silver-blue eyes peering up at him, and immediately blinks in surprise.

 

Looking up at him, gaze sharp and entirely way too focused for a days-old newborn, are two beady little grey eyes surrounded by something that is decidedly _not_ smooth, human skin. What stands in its place is instead a light blue flame, eerily similar to his own and not uncomfortably warm against his chest as it lights up the darkened room. A tiny, yellow beak accompanies the flames, nestling further into his own heat as he watches.

 

For a second, he only stares dumbfoundedly.

 

Then, Marco finds himself letting loose the deepest, and most exhausted sigh he’s ever done, and feels the exasperation wrench deeper into his very bones (he’s aware that he’s being overly dramatic, but really, he feels as if he reserves the right to be, with all he’s gone through).

 

After a few minutes, the rocking continuing on as though it never really stopped, he can tell that Myra has finally settled. He stays still for a few more, just to make sure, before he rises and gently places her in the newly-crafted crib on the other side of the room. The newborn remains in her bird form the entire time.

 

From there, he exits the room, closing the door softly behind him. A numbing weariness follows in his wake as Marco makes his way to the mess hall, the air imbued with a trace of haki that causes crew members to warily step back as he passes them by. As he finally steps into the room, all chatter dims, eyes swiveling to look at him.

 

Thatch emerges from the kitchen area, sees Marco standing there all brood-like, and immediately beelines to him. Izo approaches from somewhere as well, giving him wary looks as a gentle hand on his back steers Marco towards the private table in the corner. He doesn’t register when exactly he sits down, but he does register that both commanders are looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to explain his less-than-perfect mood.

 

He wants to tell them that he’s tired. That he hasn’t slept a full hour in six days, that his sweet little angel screams into the very early hours of the morning, until he wants to shove a pillow over his head and ignore it. He wants to tell them that he wishes Ace were here, able to support him and tell him it’s okay and maybe help sooth her back to sleep once in awhile too. That sometimes he wants to just let loose and cry, but he can’t, not really, because he has to be strong in the face of everything.

 

However, what he _wants_ to say and what he _does_ say are two entirely different things.

 

“She’s a bird.”

 

Silence. Izo and Thatch stare at him uncomprehendingly. Then,

 

“What?!” Thatch slams his hands down onto the table, startling half of the mess Hall with the manic grin plastered onto his face. Nobody likes that grin on a normal basis, but they seem to like it even less now. Marco especially hates it at the moment. “Really?!”

 

Izo, at least, has grace enough to send a heated glare the fourth division commander’s way and then reach across the table to place his hand on Marco’s own. “You don’t look like you’re taking it well. How much sleep have you gotten?”

 

“In total? About three hours,” He says truthfully.

 

“A night?” Izo asks hopefully.

 

Marco’s lips tilt into a sardonic little smile that scares the shit out of all who are looking at him. “This week.”

 

Thatch’s laughter stops, concerned gaze fixing on Marco like he’s just realized how serious the situation really is. Izo pales a bit, clears his throat of his shock, and grasps Marco’s hand tighter.

 

“Let us help. We can set up a schedule. Get people on nap duty or diaper or whatever you need,” Izo insists firmly, holding up his other hand when Marco starts to protest. “Nuh uh. We’re brothers, so stop that. We’ll do everything we can so that you get the rest you need. You’re not alone in this.”

 

Marco can feel the tiny pinpricks at the corner of his eyes that mean he’s about to cry, and immediately takes a deep breath to try and calm himself. He feels as if a small boulder has just been lifted from his shoulders, despite the much bigger boulder of Ace’s absence lingering in the background.

 

He smiles genuinely for what feels like the first time in a few weeks, and watches as Izo and Thatch return it full force with grins of their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: I recently caught a timeline error where I accidentally placed Alabasta as having happened two WEEKS before the Florian Triangle, but I’ve fixed it and it is now two MONTHS. My bad.


	4. Chapter 4

The day they finally hear from Ace is the marked two-week date since Myra’s birth. And they don’t hear from Ace directly either. No, they see it in the newspaper.

 

The second division commander has gone and gotten himself captured by the marines, scheduled for execution in little under a week.

 

Everybody already knows exactly what this means, of course. The answer can be nothing else but war, and even now Whitebeard and most of his commanders are fielding den den mushi calls from each allied force, confirming this notion.

 

For his part, the moment Marco sees the newspaper he has to sit down or else he knows his legs will give out from under him. Thatch gets to witness the breakdown he has afterwards, holding Myra while he rubs his blond brother’s back comfortingly. The tears don’t come out, because he knows Ace isn’t dead, not even close to it, but he can’t help the overwhelming emotion that takes hold and threatens to shake his very foundation. He bites his lips to the point of needing to heal them, frustrated and sad and terrified and relieved all at the same time. He hasn’t been this emotional since he had Myra.

 

Myra clearly has no clue of what’s going on, and he wouldn’t expect her to, of course. She coos and bats at Thatch’s yellow foulard, eyes drawn by the bright color. Her facial features increasingly resemble Ace’s with each day that passes, in Marco’s opinion. Looking at her makes him want to cry even more, the ache of longing pulsing dramatically in his chest, the empty slot in her upbringing where Ace should be a stinging wound that grows greater even now.

 

Thatch is a steady presence beside him though. His brother is still here at least, and Marco doesn’t know what he’d being doing if Thatch had really died that night all those months ago. The fourth division commander reminds him to breathe, starts telling him an old story about one of his younger siblings, and the lull of his voice slowly brings Marco back from the brink like emerging out of a deep sleep. Even though Marco can’t bring it upon himself to do anything other than frown just yet, he absorbs the beaming smile Thatch directs his way when Marco raises his head, soaking up the positivity and the support.

 

Marco watches as Thatch continues to cradle Myra carefully in the crook of his arm. These two...these two are part of his light right now. Two spots of good and innocence in the mess of his emotions. A surge of protectiveness overcomes him at the sight of them together, and Marco knows that he would put himself in harm’s way countless times if it gave him the right to care for them properly. And not only these two, but his whole family; his father, his brothers and sisters, and one, especially troublesome, little piece of shit. _Ace._

 

And _damn_ , what Marco would give for Ace to not be in such a mess. If he could turn back the clock, stop Ace from going after Teach, hell, _stop Teach from attacking Thatch_ , he wouldn’t even hesitate. The feeling is so ingrained in his body that it might as well be fact. The yearning for Ace to be here, doting on Myra with Thatch and generally being another ray of light in Marco’s life, it’s strong, an almost physical thing that could probably be touched, now accompanied by a paralyzing fear for the other man’s safety.

 

The emotions are too much.

 

So he pushes it all away, looks at Thatch again, this time with a determined expression on his face. “We’re getting him back,” he says between clenched teeth.

 

In response, Thatch’s beaming smile shifts to a cocky smirk.

 

“ _Hell yeah, we are._ ”

 

Myra gurgles happily in his arms.

 

—————————

 

Oyaji’s room has been turned into a makeshift war room, at least for the time being. Every single commander gathers there, ready and waiting for the game plan.

 

Currently, they’re traveling underwater, the ship’s bubble coating holding strong. They have a little under a day until they arrive at Marineford, and there’s not a man onboard any one of their ships who isn’t wrought with tension.

 

Marco, in particular, feels it more keenly than most of the others. Because of this, those around him purposely avoid eye contact, inching away when the chance presents itself. They know his temper is volatile at the moment, easily triggered, and one newer member has already accidentally incurred his wrath, with the splintered railing outside to show for it. He’s more likely to snap at anyone than have a normal conversation, and most of the commanders sense this.

 

The only ones unbothered by his mood include Oyaji (of course, the man is rarely rattled by anything), Thatch, and Izo.

 

The past three days, an extremely serious debate has been ongoing between the four of them. A delicate matter that only a few chosen and trusted pirates are allowed knowledge of. The task is of utmost importance, with the ability to possibly shift the tide in this war should they need it.

 

And it is also the source of Marco’s rotten temper.

 

Yes, such a delicate situation, a mission meant only for Whitebeard’s strongest commanders.

 

Babysitting duty.

 

Hence, this is the reason Marco currently has about four feet of space between him and the other commanders, with the exception of Thatch. Because Thatch has a death wish. A _Death by Flaming Talon_ wish.

 

Myra is asleep in his quarters at the moment, a mousy man by the name of Gabe watching over her. This meeting is expected to get fairly loud, and nobody wants to deal with a fussy baby on top of all the planning going on. The respite grants Marco some measure of peace, but it doesn’t help much in the long run when the source of his frustration is who will babysit her _during the war._ He’s sure that if this were a normal situation, if they were a normal family, then the other parent would take responsibility for the baby. However, that option is obviously out. What with Myra’s other dad as the entire _reason_ they were heading into war in the first place.

 

Silently, Marco swears under his breath that if Ace doesn’t die at Marineford, then he’ll kill the bastard himself. _Damn moron._

 

His thoughts are abruptly brought to a halt as Whitebeard raises a single large hand and calls for silence. The room immediately quiets.

 

Getting straight to business, Whitebeard asks Haruta to review the first part of their plan. He does so punctually and precisely, scarcely missing a single detail, and even listing contingencies should parts of the plan go awry. A few commanders contribute their own input on some pieces, but otherwise barely interrupt the shorter commander. Whitebeard is a strong presence in the background, listening intently to whatever his son says.

 

When he finally stops, Haruta looks back to Whitebeard expectantly. The Captain nods. “Thank you, Haruta. I’d also like to discuss the multiple courses of action for the second half of the plan, but first,” and at this Whitebeard’s steely eyes flick to Marco and hold his confused gaze. “there is something of importance that needs to be discussed. A detail the Marines will most definitely take advantage of, and I know Sengoku. He _will_ use it. It will turn the tide against us, undoubtedly, but we must not let that hinder us.”

 

Marco frowns. _Something the marines will use against us?_ _Surely he’s not talking about Myra._

 

“Regardless of the situation, we must keep calm. Doing so will be the deciding factor as to who will win this war,” Whitebeard continues. “The information I am about to depart to you is solely for the purpose of keeping your minds on track tomorrow, to keep from finding yourselves swept away in the oncoming confusion. This will not be shared with the rest of the crew, save a few allied captains I have already discussed it with, understand?”

 

The resounding _Yes, Oyaji!_ could surely be heard all the way outside on deck.

 

“Gurara! Good. Now, all of you should be warned that this concerns Ace as a person, but does not change the fact that your brother will always be just that. _Your brother_. He will not be happy that I am about to share this information with you, but I think the point is moot when his parentage will soon be announced publicly to the world in any case.”

 

Ace’s parentage. Marco hadn’t given such a thing any thought whatsoever, until now. He knows that Ace is fairly sensitive when it comes to the topic of his family (minus that straw hat kid), that he has a seemingly endless amount of hurt and sorrow buried beneath his cheerful exterior, but he hadn’t thought the information was world shaking like Oyaji was currently implying.

 

Apparently Marco isn’t the only who is confused by the discussion, because Thatch stands up from beside him. “Sorry, Oyaji, but I’m just a little confused right now. What do Ace’s parents have to do with the Execution?”

 

Whitebeard seems to have been waiting for this, hence all the stalling. He levels a solemn look across the entire room, but lingers the longest on Marco before he shifts back to Thatch.

 

“Everything, my sons. It has everything to do with the Execution.”

 

The pause is so long that it sets Marco on the edge of his seat. Izo and Haruta have started whispering amongst each other. He’s almost ready to snap at his father to _just get on with it_ , when said man speaks again.

 

“The blood that runs through Ace’s veins is that of the World Government’s greatest enemy, Gol D. Roger.”

 

Silence.

 

It echoes throughout the room, all of them rendered speechless. Nobody dares move a muscle, stuck staring up at the unmistakably serious face of their father like he has just delivered news of his own death.

 

Marco is in quite a bit of shock himself. Ace had never bothered to elaborate on the beef he evidently had with some of his family, obviously, otherwise Marco might have been privy to this knowledge beforehand.

 

He almost wants to laugh. Because of course, _of course_ , Ace is Roger’s son. He can’t believe he didn’t notice it earlier. The way Ace’s smile takes up almost half his face when he’s truly happy, the unruly nest of black hair, the piercingly _familiar_ silver eyes. Even the pigheaded stubbornness and the unstoppable determination to protect his nakama. All of it. Marco can see now. Only reckless _idiots_ related to Roger could do half the things that Ace did. _Does._

 

That being said, Marco himself doesn’t much care _who_ Ace’s parents are. Everyone is a child of the sea, after all, and dull things like parentage don’t matter when you’re as notorious as the Whitebeard Pirates. (And really, it might just be hysteria talking, but unknowingly continuing the Pirate King’s bloodline on his own part is a comical detail he wants to laugh even more at.) But he knows that others, especially the marines and some select members of the Whitebeard pirates, would most definitely care. As much as he’d like to deny it, marine propaganda has sufficiently disillusioned much of the grand line and the blues. They paint Roger as a monster, a ruthless devil that spares no mercy. Only those who met Roger and exchanged more than two sentences with him truly knew the amazing influence the man had on anyone he encountered.

 

(He’ll give the marines one thing though. Roger was absolutely _batshit crazy._ )

 

Not everyone is Marco though. He can see how this would pose a problem for the Whitebeard Pirates. One mention of Ace being Roger’s son would boost the marine soldiers’ determination to see Ace’s execution followed through, to supposedly rid the world of the demon’s blood at last. Such a reveal would wipe all thoughts of Ace being innocent from many minds. And they’d declare it to be a show of the World Government’s prowess, too. Ace, son of “Gold” Roger, in custody and powerless before their very feet.

 

The very thought makes Marco’s blood boil.

 

So distracted in his thoughts, Marco just barely hears Thatch echo them.

 

“They’re…” Thatch’s voice is unsteady, shaking in what Marco recognizes as horror. “They’re going to make a show out of him, aren’t they?”

 

Marco watches Whitebeard nod his head. “The whole world will be pitted against Ace,” He states and the solemn atmosphere in the room sucks out any kind of positivity, leaving only a disturbingly horrified air.

 

Suddenly, another thought pops into Marco’s mind.

 

He groans audibly. Everyone turns to look at him. “This gives a whole new layer of meaning to the babysitting duty, doesn’t it, yoi?”

 

That, at least, brings out a few smirks from those in the room that understand his pain. Thatch even gives a wobbly little chuckle.

 

“Indeed, my son,” Whitebeard, no, _Oyaji_ , says with an ever growing grin.

 

Marco wants to laugh again, laugh until he cries and Ace is here so Marco can beat the little shit up for making this infinitely more difficult.

 

A few feet away, Izo mutters dazedly, “Gol D. Roger’s granddaughter...gods, that sounds so surreal.” A crooked tilt of the lips indicates his amusement at the prospect.

 

“I really hope she isn’t crazy as balls like her grandpa,” Rakuyo whines, causing more laughter.

 

“Who knows, maybe she’ll be more like Ace and take naps in her stew?” Vista suggests, chuckling loudly.

 

“Wait, no, didn’t Roger do that too?”

 

“Oh, shit! Yeah, he did do that, didn’t he?”

 

“So long as she doesn’t go around sexing up grumpy blonds in _supposedly_ hidden spots on the ship, then I think she’ll be fine.” A pause. It takes only seconds to make the connection and suddenly the room is in hysterics. Marco can feel a blush crawling its way into his cheeks, but the glare he sends Thatch’s way is half-hearted at best. Everybody knows that Thatch has the uncanny (and _unintentional,_ the cook had protested more than once) ability to find people in compromising positions. Not to mention the many times he’s caught Ace and Marco with their pants down ( _literally_ ), there was a particularly memorable incident many years ago, where Thatch had caught none other than Pirate King Gol D. Roger and “Dark King” Silvers Rayleigh in _quite_ the embarrassing position during one of the Roger Pirates’ visits. The result had been endless ribbing on both sides and Thatch refusing to look both Rayleigh and Roger in the eye during their next four visits.

 

That the joke lives on through Roger’s son is an irony that makes Marco want to throw himself into the sea.

 

He aims another half-hearted glare around the room, because even _Oyaji_ is guffawing loudly around all his medical equipment, but eventually gives in.

  
It _is_ pretty funny, after all.

 

———————————

 

Eventually, after much haggling and spitting of insults, Thatch agrees to take babysitting duty. 

 

At the very last second.

 

The bastard.

 

Just as they're preparing for their entrance into the bay, Marco standing beside Whitebeard and trying his damned best to get Myra to fall asleep (to no avail), the pompadour’d bastard sidles right up beside him. Marco takes one look at him, the grudgingly pouty expression the other man wears, and heaves a deep sigh. Thatch had already been under orders to sit this battle out unless absolutely necessary, by Head Doctor Marco himself no less, so really the man putting up such a resistance to babysitting duty was pointless. No doubt, the ginger had only done it to annoy his friend.

 

“You're such a bastard, yoi,” He says, passing Myra over to her uncle without much fuss. The newborn continues shoving all the fingers on her left hand into her mouth without interruption, and Marco quells the protectiveness surging inside of him.

 

“I know,” Thatch laughs, but he places a single hand on Marco’s shoulder immediately afterward. His eyes crinkle in concern. “Be careful out there, brother.”

 

Marco grins, shoves Thatch’s shoulder. “I know,” he parrots back. “Be careful with my daughter, yoi.” The affronted look he gets in response, like Thatch is offended by the very idea of being unable to protect a newborn baby, prompts Marco to give one last chuckle before the duo strides away.

 

When he turns back to the front of the ship, he notices Oyaji smiling at him out of the corner of his eye. Curious, he looks at the giant man straight on. “What?”

 

Oyaji merely grins wider.

 

\-----------------------

 

To say that Marineford is chaos would be an understatement. 

 

In all honesty, it feels more like Hell to Marco. Despite his cool demeanor and the purposely blank expression he dons on most days, he is a very emotional man. Many mistake his calm appearance for apathy, when in reality he is struggling to maintain the facade he’s put in place, grieving as he watches another brother out of many fall to the hands of a Vice Admiral.

 

Of course, just because he’s grieving doesn’t mean his Observation Haki is any weaker, which is why he feels the incoming threat of a large magma fist before he actually sees it. He knows that it won’t hit the  _ Moby Dick _ , but he watches it cautiously regardless as the threat flies over their heads. The projectile hits one of their other ships, and Marco inwardly winces.

 

When Marco knows Kizaru is coming, he doesn’t even hesitate to fly straight towards the incoming attack meant for Oyaji. They can’t afford to let the marines get any more of an advantage, and that includes a successful first attack on Oyaji. Kizaru’s attack has no effect on Marco, but the opposite is also true, as he swiftly flies back to his position beside Whitebeard and watches the light man extricate himself from the rubble with barely even a scratch.

 

Paying this fact no mind, Marco spares a cursory glance back at Thatch, who is standing on deck and slowly rocking Myra, while keeping on the lookout for any more magma projectiles headed their way. As it is, staying below deck would simply endanger them more. Less escape routes, after all. The fourth division commander seems to have gone and grabbed Myra’s sling from Marco’s quarters, because the blond can see two tiny little hands futilely reaching for Thatch’s foulard again from inside the sky blue cloth. When Marco makes eye contact with the man, Thatch grins widely and gives him a big thumbs up. 

 

The blond shakes his head exasperatedly, and adjusts his focus back onto the battlefield. He can spy the form of a kneeling Ace from here, and already knows that the man must be suffering greatly by watching his nakama fight on his behalf. The men out there though...They all respect Ace, they admire him and their dedication to the commander is infectious, the genuine wishes for his safety and his life, all are reasons worth risking their lives for. Nobody lays a harmful finger on one of their siblings and gets away with it. Even if it is the World Government.  _ Especially  _ if it’s the World Government.

 

Marco knows Ace though, knows some of his in-and-outs, so he also knows that their youngest brother has yet to fully grasp the depth of their care for him. The hothead had once confessed to Marco, on a particularly rough night filled with plenty of alcohol and lazy, late night kissing, that he couldn’t stand the idea of anybody giving up their life for him. 

 

_ “I’m not worth it,” The dark-haired man says, face tucked into Marco’s chest, their bodies curled up snugly in the blankets on the first division commander’s bed. “I don’t know why they keep risking themselves for me, when I’m so worthless.” _

 

_ Marco remains quiet, feeling Ace’s hands curl into the fabric of the shirt on his back. Hot puffs of breath gust against his bare chest, sending shivers down across his skin as he holds the other just that much closer in return.  _

 

_ “If they knew…knew what I am, then they definitely wouldn’t…” The whisper seems like it’s more to himself than to Marco, but as it is the blond man can’t let that comment stand. _

 

_ “You’re wrong, yoi.” _

 

_ “...I’m not. They would hate me. You, too.” _

 

_ “No, we wouldn’t, yoi,” Marco is sure of himself in this, because he sees the way the whole crew is fond of their youngest member. “Everybody aboard this ship thinks that at first, but they’re all wrong. It doesn’t matter where you came from or who you were in the past, or even what you’ve done. You’re family, and nothing can change that, yoi. Nothing.”  _

 

_ After a short pause, there’s a sniffle. A suspicious wetness against his skin, but Marco doesn’t outwardly acknowledge it.  _

 

_ “I don’t deserve it, this kindness…” Ace’s grip becomes tighter to the point of suffocating him, yet still Marco’s heart tugs at the pain the young man before him is suffering through. To harbor this much self-loathing, he must have had a dark past, indeed. “But...I’m so happy! Is that wrong? For me to want to be happy, even though I’m so pathetic?” _

 

_ “It’s never wrong, yoi.” _

 

Now, as Marco watches Ace bend to rest his forehead against the wood of the platform, he understands the darkness that lurks within his young lover just that much more. As the son of a man the world fears twice over, he must have suffered through hearing more about his famed blood father than any child should have to. Marco can already imagine what they would’ve said, the horrific threats against Ace’s life, the sneers and malicious expressions mentioning Roger often incites. With no one around to educate Ace on what Roger was really like as a person, except maybe Garp (and even then, the old marine is not a reliable source), the hothead probably grew up believing up the government’s shitty propaganda, the hatred sprouting from lies of the more bloody nature.

 

Roger may have been a crazy old bastard, reckless and entirely unreasonable at times, but he certainly wasn’t a stone cold killer. He wasn’t a murderer. 

 

Marco is determined not to let Ace be disillusioned any longer, and not to let Myra grow up believing the lies about her grandfather either. As someone who’s personally met and spent time with the man, despite technically being his rival, Marco has more of a chance at dispelling those illusions than most other people, and he means to do so.

 

Which is why, after looking back one last time at the peaceful, most likely tentative sight of Thatch cradling the small blue bundle that is Myra to his chest, the first division commander makes a decision.

 

The future must be fought for with blood, sweat, and tears, after all.

 

Flames igniting around his arms and feet transforming into the formidable weapons they truly are, he dives into battle.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Myra meets Uncle Luffy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, this story follows the canon timeline, except for a few obvious changes. I’ve also added some of my own little nuggets in here, which includes extrapolating on a couple of Luffy’s abilities. Just saying.

The moment Marco steps off the figurehead, Thatch steps forward to take his place by Oyaji. Myra squirms in her sling like she knows that her father has just entered the war, and he looks down fondly at the three-week-old, patting her back to calm her. She settles, one tiny hand resting against his chest, and his heart grows just that much bigger.

Of course, the fuzzy feeling in his chest doesn’t get rid of the helplessness that comes with seeing his family fight in this war. He’s aware that he can’t do anything right now, can’t protect them like he wants to, and it’s not entirely his fault either ( _fleeting memories of a malicious gap-toothed grin, a bloodied knife, and the crack of lightning in the sky glance across his mind, but he quickly pushes them away)_ , but he can’t help the guilt. It just feels wrong to watch them all risk their lives while he sits on the sidelines.

He’s certainly not defenseless, and he could fight off a few hundred marines without breaking a sweat, Thatch reckons, mildly upset. Yet he also knows the reasons for being put on the back burner are sound. He was almost fatally injured mere months ago, so trading any punches with a high profile marine when he doesn’t absolutely need to would be dangerous and pointless. Thatch is technically also the last line of defense for Pops should the need of his protection arise (highly unlikely in his mind), not to mention Myra.

Protecting the small, impossible creation of two of his greatest friends is the absolute priority, next to rescuing her father.

Thatch watches as Marco begins viciously fighting off marines, and tracks his progress instead of focusing on the rest of his brothers and sisters down below. He knows Marco won’t have too much trouble, and it also gives Thatch some sort of way to pass the time.

As such, what feels like long, gruelling hours, but is probably only about twenty minutes, go by. Myra is stubbornly refusing to take her nap, taking in her surroundings curiously and gnawing on one of Thatch’s fingers, when the fourth division commander hears a peculiar sound.

Confused, Thatch looks to the side in order to gauge Oyaji’s reaction. His father isn’t looking at him, nor is he looking at the battlefield. In fact, the man is looking _up._

Brows furrowed, he follows Oyaji’s gaze and immediately notices what has captured the infamous Pirate Captain’s attention. It’s kind of hard to miss, really.

“Holy _shit,_ ” Thatch sputters, zero fucks given about minding his language around a baby when there’s a sight like _this_ in front of him. “Is that a…?”

Oyaji merely nods, chuckling loudly like seeing a fucking _ship fall from the_ _sky_ is at all normal. He can hear the would-be passengers screaming even from here.

He vaguely wonders how and why they were up there in the first place, but doesn’t seem to get much further than that in in his thought processes because, by some stroke of crazy luck, the ship manages to land in _the one spot_ where ice doesn’t cover the entirety of the battlefield. The _one spot_ Jozu had made ice-free at the beginning of the war.

Thatch watches as the resulting waves drench any nearby marines, and as the unfortunate passengers fall one by one into the water surrounding the vessel, fearful screams immediately muffled by the sea. Belatedly, he realizes he might just be gaping quite a lot, but can’t seem to mind too much when _A. Ship. From. The. Sky._

Each side can only stare in shock at the spectacle, because surely anyone onboard must be _dead_ from the fall. As a result, an eerie silence permeates the air, making room for (what Thatch realizes, in hindsight, many years from now while telling the tale to his many grandchildren) the inevitable.

A single voice reaches every last ear in its impossibility.

“ACE!”

And Thatch can only stare, as an impossibly small figure crouches imposingly, takes up more space than what seems physically attainable as more _impossible_ figures join him, one by one, each backing this—this _boy_ , this _miracle_ in human form.

“LUFFY!” Ace’s voice rings desperate across the battlefield, making Thatch breathe out sharply. The pieces are slotting into place. That impossible boy, that strikingly small figure, is most definitely Ace’s crazy little brother, and he just knows that Oyaji is sizing up the straw-hatted pirate appraisingly from where he stands.

But to think, that the kid could gather so many high-profile names in so short a time, all seemingly under a single goal, well. Thatch doesn’t even know if Oyaji could do that. The kid even has _Ivankov_ from the _Revolutionary Army_ backing him up, and he can’t really think of a plausible reason for the okama to have a stake in this war besides _maybe_ pissing off the World Government.

That doesn’t seem like the most pressing matter at the moment, though. Quite suddenly, there’s an empty spot next to Straw Hat, and the foreboding tingle of sand brushing across the skin of his cheeks. His eyes widen.

“Oyaji!”

He swivels, ready to intercept, but ends up having to shield his eyes as his line of sight is obscured by yet another source. When he clears it away, one hand already reaching for a sword despite Marco’s orders, what he sees is yet another shock.

There, steam seemingly rising from his very skin, is Ace’s reckless little brother himself, a fierce look in those brown eyes aimed right at Whitebeard’s attacker.

Crocodile.

The straw hatted teen has pushed the former Warlord several feet back from the Yonko, and remains in a defensive stance as he glares atthe sand logia. Thatch can see that he’s actually...dripping?

“So you already made preparations to fight me, huh?” Crocodile says, narrowing his eyes at the younger pirate. “I honored our agreement and helped you to get here. Why are you defending Whitebeard?”

Thatch looks at the rookie, just as curious to hear his reasoning. For all extents and purposes, Whitebeard is technically a rival in the race to One Piece.

“So this old guy really is Whitebeard?” _Of course,_ Thatch thinks, mentally facepalming, _the kid also might not know who he’s defending._ “Then don’t touch him! Ace likes this old guy!”

At those words, the fourth division commander can feel a large grin slowly spreading across his face, and he chuckles lowly. _Not bad. Not bad at all, kid._

While a few crew mates restrain Crocodile, Thatch takes a moment to make his own assessment of the rookie brat, just as Oyaji is no doubt doing as well.

Red shorts and a bright yellow button-up tank cover a slight stature, with skinnier arms and legs than what Thatch expected of a notorious rookie, and, boy, does he sure want to provide a few nutritious meals to fatten the kid up a bit. Flimsy sandals adorn his feet, which are already scraped up and bleeding in a few spots, while his head is full of messy, black hair that’s just aching to be ruffled by a caring big brother figure. And to top it all off, a worn straw hat with a red ribbon laced around its circumference sits comfortably upon the teen’s back, hanging from a string at his neck.

_In fact,_ Thatch thinks, letting his eyes linger on the hat, _That straw hat seems awfully familiar…_

“Kid...that straw hat of yours…” Oyaji’s voice sounds from next to him, and Thatch can tell he recognizes it too. “It looks a lot like the one Red Hair used to wear.”

The dark haired teen turns to him, surprise and a little bit of delight in his wide eyes. “You know Shanks, old guy? I’m holding it for him.” His gaze turns to the hat in question, expression just the tiniest bit fond.

Oyaji pauses a moment, lets that sink in.

“Have you come to save your brother?”

“That’s right!”

Thatch can sense not a little bit of challenge in Oyaji’s voice as he asks, “Don’t you understand what you’re up against?!”

Small tremors pass throughout the ship as the Yonko slams the hilt of his oversized bisento down onto the deck, but the rookie pirate barely even moves.

“A squirt like you will be dead meat!”

It feels as though the whole battlefield has fallen silent at this issued challenge, many an eye focused on this exchange between the old generation and the new.

Thatch’s stomach sinks slightly when the teen’s head lowers, thinking that he might have overestimated the rookie a bit. He knows that Oyaji is only testing the brat, concerned in his own gruff way for the brother of his son in the middle of this life-changing war, but it’s not like Straw Hat knows that. Still, the fourth division commander is honestly a bit disappointed...

That is, until the kid—no, the _pirate_ —snaps his head back up with a growl deep in his throat and a fist raised in front of his face, expression downright _pissed off._

“SHUT UP! That’s not up to you to decide!” Straw Hat shouts, fists waving wildly. “I know what you’re up to! You wanna become the King of the Pirates, right?!”

Thatch can feel a collective intake of breath from the battlefield, anticipating the next words in this exchange between two stubborn, notorious individuals. He can also feel that grin on his lips slowly making a comeback.

“But I’m the one who will become the King!” Those fists place themselves on the pirate’s hips in the most stubborn stance Thatch has ever seen, and he wants to laugh out loud. The whole battlefield is in shock, every single duel momentarily paused, as the intense standoff continues, and he can actually hear the two _growling_ at each other, _wow._

Once again, Oyaji raises his bisento in the air to twirl it in a fashion that Thatch recognizes as simply showing off, this time slamming it back down with even more force than the last. The reverberations are enough to upset Myra in her sling, and she starts to wail while the pompadour’d man comfortingly cradles her head. He’d honestly forgotten that he had a baby strapped to his chest this whole time, and hadn’t bothered to cover her ears at the louder parts.

However, as quickly as it starts, the standoff ends, and Thatch can see Oyaji’s lips tilt up into his own trademark grin. “How cheeky you are! I won’t forgive you if you cause me trouble, you spoiled brat!”

“I’ll do as I like!” The brat proclaims. Despite the wailing three-week-old in his arms, he can’t help but smile wider, especially as the teen turns his way along with Oyaji.

One larger finger reaches down to gently nudge at the head of downy blonde hair peeking out of the sky blue sling. “It is alright, granddaughter. Your Oyaji did not mean to scare you,” the older man says apologetically. As if she understands what he’s trying to convey, the wails quickly die down into little whimpers, and Thatch inwardly sighs in relief. It wouldn’t do for Mama Bird to panic and retreat back to the ship at the moment.

Especially since Thatch would probably pay the price for upsetting the “baby bird”.

“Ah! Is that a baby?” The younger pirate abruptly moves closer, head tilting curiously to stare at the small face peeking out of the folds at Thatch’s chest. Thatch is almost startled by how quickly the other has moved, wide eyes focused in on the babe. He restrains himself from drawing a sword though, knowing Ace would roast and skewer him alive on his own weapons should he hurt the hothead’s younger brother.

He still cradles the baby’s head just that much closer though, a little creeped out by the blank-eyed staring contest the kid seems to have started with Myra. “Um, yeah.” He says. Quite eloquently.

And still the staring contest continues.

Thatch is just considering snapping his fingers in front of that scarred face when the boy in question makes his eyes go even wider. His mouth drops open in surprise, and Thatch wonders what has just happened.

“EHHH?! Ace has a kid?!”

Thatch feels his own jaw go slack, and he’s almost sure that Oyaji is raising a surprised brow at the kid. But he recovers just as quickly, and hurriedly shushes the teen.

“Shhh! Could you say it any louder?! That’s supposed to be a secret! Do you want the marines coming down on your niece’s head?!” He whisper-shouts. He maneuvers himself so that Luffy is pulled into a tight headlock, and brings his face close. “How’d you even find out about that?! No one outside of the crew knows!” He pauses. “Not even Ace knows, actually!”

“She told me!”

“What do you mean, she _told you_ ?! She can’t _speak_ yet, you idiot!”

“It was a mystery voice, then!”

“What the hell!”

From next to their small huddle, a rumbling chuckle resounds. Oyaji spares the boy a fond, yet curious, glance. “It doesn’t matter how he knows. Keep this information under wraps, brat.”

“Sure!”

Thatch gives the kid one last exasperated, mystified look before letting him go and watching him scramble back to tell Oyaji something else. Probably something important, from the looks of it.

The fourth division commander just shakes his head, shifting his gaze back to the blond head resting against his chest. “Damn D.’s,” He mutters.

(Back on a certain island, in a certain base, a man with shaggy blond hair and a scar over one eye gets the sudden urge to burst out laughing in the middle of a meeting, for seemingly no reason whatsoever.)

—————————

Through it all, Ace watches.

Watches as his nakama fight with their all to retrieve him.

Watches his brothers fall in combat.

Watches their sacrifices being made beneath his very nose.

And he can do _nothing._

The agony tears through his body like a raging inferno, the self-hatred stronger than it’s been since childhood, since _Sabo._ He can’t stand to watch the war, the pain, the death, but he _must_. It’s all for his sake, after all, and their sacrifices would be worth naught if he didn’t witness them himself.

He’s surely cried more in this past hour than he has his entire life, and it just keeps happening, waves and waves of tears washing down his cheeks as his brother— _Luffy, sweet innocent bullheadedly reckless Luffy, his baby brother—_ enters the battle from _the sky_ , of all things. Now, not only must his nakama suffer, but he must see the struggles Luffy goes through to reach the execution platform as well.

Because _of course_ , of course Luffy wouldn’t take an announcement of Ace’s execution laying down. He’d hoped that somehow Luffy wouldn’t hear, wouldn’t see the newspaper headlines, but it’d happened and now he was out there. The kid would be more likely to give up his own dream than leave his only remaining brother to die. Much to Ace’s chagrin. He doesn’t know if the fact that he’s seemingly gained Oyaji’s approval is helping his dismay either.

And now not only has Ace’s parentage been announced to the world, but Luffy’s has too.

Sengoku surely knows the impact such news will inflict upon the world, the fear it will instill into the hearts of marines and civilians and pirates alike, causing unrest just with the mention of two dreaded names.

Gol D. Roger.

Monkey D. Dragon.

Cursed names, cursed bloodlines. Despised by countless others across the seas.

Luffy obviously wouldn’t care about details like these, but Ace could see Garp wince out of the corner of his eye when it was announced, could see the shock among the fighters, the tide shifting as their gazes fixed more attentively upon the young supernova, watching his every move. He watched even the admirals pause, a large target being painted on Luffy’s back.

In a world like this, bloodline means everything to the government. Possible threats are eliminated based on a person’s connections, their parents, their origins, no matter if they’re innocent of a crime or not. Their mere existence is a crime, just like Ace.

And so he cries. Cries for his friends and his family, his _everything,_ his _world,_ when Ace’s fate has already been decided from birth. His death is inevitable, but still they fight for him.

His blurred vision drifts to Oyaji, and he sees the old pirate standing there, proud as ever. He’s unharmed so far, of course, being the strongest man in the world has its merits, but Ace can’t help the anxiety that thrums beneath his skin at the thought of his Oyaji risking everything to save him, can’t stand the thought of the man who saved his life losing his own in this battle, even if the chances are slim at this point.

Whitebeard’s earlier words ring loudly in his ears still, the obvious lie that the old man sent him after Teach, that he supported Ace in his reckless endeavor. None of that is true in even a remote sense, and Oyaji damn well knows it. But that he took the blame upon himself, instead of pushing it entirely onto Ace like it should’ve been, because he’d clearly walked into his own execution with his nose up in the air, warms his heart. It makes him feel loved, like he’s not alone in the world, and Oyaji probably doesn’t even know the significance behind that.

When he shifts his gaze to the right, he sees another figure standing beside their father. The man had been there when Luffy made his rather daring challenge to Oyaji, but his younger brother had been mostly obstructing the features of said man. Now, however...

Ace’s entire body locks up in shock, and his breath hitches in his throat.

That’s…

“ _Thatch?_ ” He whispers, and Garp glances at him confusedly. Ace shakes himself, leaning forward with a yell at the tip of his tongue. “Tha-!” The word catches again, filled with disbelief as he stares at a man he thought to be dead. He can feel a new onslaught of tears prickling at his eyes.

Taking the man in, Ace can see that the fourth division commander looks the same as ever. Bleached white cook’s garbs, yellow foulard, strapped twin swords, over-the-top pompadour and all. The only deviance from his usual appearance is the bright blue...sling? The first thought that comes to mind is that Thatch has broken his arm since Ace last saw him those few months ago, but he immediately pushes the idea aside. Thatch would be too careful not to break his arms, after all they’re the most important tools for his line of work. Whatever it is, it’s strapped across Thatch’s chest and looks to be a considerable bulge when the head chef turns to the side.

For the moment, Ace pushes Thatch’s odd appearance out of mind to focus on the fact that the commander is _alive_ , but also, now that he notices and has looked down into the waging battles below, that Marco has made considerable headway towards the execution stand.

The blond commander has a grim expression on his face that Ace has only ever seen once before, when Teach had betrayed them. It sends shivers down his spine, because he knows it’s the face Marco makes when someone hurts his nakama, and is going to pay dearly for it. This instance seems even more grim than the last, the expression deeper and more intense, perhaps due to the fact that Ace isn’t only nakama, but also Marco’s _lover_ (and oh, how weird that sounds to acknowledge even in his head).

But...even from a distance, Ace can tell there’s something else. He’s sure he would be able to read it more clearly were the man right in front of him, but as it is he can’t decipher it.

He watches the first division commander take down one of the captains rather viciously, talons drawn and sharp, and Ace winces, hissing. That must have hurt. Next to him, Garp hears the noise his grandson makes, follows his gaze. He spies the ruthless manner in which Marco is fighting, and huffs a laugh despite the dire circumstances.

“That Phoenix is as strong as ever, I see!” He gripes, and Ace isn’t sure whether he’s supposed to respond or not. It seems like the old man is making a piss poor attempt at lightening the mood. “I’ll have to corner him again sometime, it’s been ages since we’ve fought. Gahahaha!”

Deciding to indulge the marine, Ace grins softly, ignoring the tears and the pain for a moment more to admire the man whom he’s focused his affections on. “He’d kick your ass!” He says proudly, earning an indignant growl from beside him. He’s probably fucked up a little in saying that, but he feels that Gramps needed something at least _nearing_ normal to distract him as well.

Just as he predicted, a sharp force colliding with his head followed by a stinging pain is the response, along with an angry bellow of, “FIST OF LOVE!” The Geezer’s arm is still raised in preparation of a punch, but the man is grinning when Ace looks at him, so he figures that it’s only for show. Several exclamations of shock follow his punch from down below, no doubt praising the tough punishment Garp is doling out to the evil Pirate, but Ace could really care less.

The old man sits down again from where he had stood to abuse his grandson, and he lets out an indignant yet fond huff. Ace can almost _feel_ Sengoku rolling his eyes from his other side. It might not be the time nor the place for such sentiment, but for the first time in a long while, he’s happy the old man is here with him.

“Shitty Brat, how dare you go be happy with that Pirate! You could’ve been much better off with a nice marine!”

Ace blinks at the wording. Pirate, singular. Meaning he’s referring to only Marco, not the crew as a whole. And... _nice marine_?

Suddenly, he can feel warmth rush into his cheeks at the realization of what the Shitty Geezer is implying. He’s probably blushing up a storm, and he forces his face to turn in the opposite direction, mumbling defiantly beneath his breath, “I don’t know what the hell you’re on about, you shitty old man, but it’s none of your business!”

Garp merely laughs. He hears Sengoku sigh deeply, no doubt rethinking his life choices. “If he’s going to be my grandson-in-law, then I’ll have to give him a proper talking to! Maybe a Fist of Love or two!” Horrified, Ace turns back to see the marine hero grinning widely, a malicious gleam in his eye that Ace does _not_ like one little bit, no siree.

He can’t help but sputter helplessly, gobsmacked at this sudden turn of events. _Grandson-in law? Oh, god._ “Who said anything about us getting married, shitty geezer?!” Even the thought of Garp acknowledging Marco as his grandson spurs an odd feeling in his gut, one that he can’t quite place. But whatever it is, it’s _weird_.

To be fair, this is entirely unexpected. If anything, he thought Garp would’ve been _opposed_ to his and Marco’s relationship, not _in favor_ of it. His shock is perfectly justified.

Only, Garp just nods wisely, like he already has the secrets of the universe figured out. “I better be invited to the wedding, brat, or else I’ll crash it anyways.”

“WE’RE NOT GETTING MARRIED!”

Ace grits his teeth frustratedly, because the old man is doing that thing where he bears a scary resemblance to Luffy and is _not listening_ , as usual. Stubborn bastard.

In the distance, Ace hears a sudden bark of laughter that can only be Thatch. And he knows that laugh, because it’s the one Thatch uses whenever Ace comes to half-heartedly complain about crewmates cockblocking them or Marco and his stupid paperwork taking up all his time. _Shit,_ Ace thinks, and _Fuck! Fuckity Fuck!_ because he didn’t think he’d been that loud. If Thatch heard his shout from all the way across the battlefield then…

Yep, Marco is looking at him.

An unreadable expression crosses the phoenix’s face as he punches another marine in the gut, and it makes Ace somewhat uncomfortable when they make eye contact even from a distance.

At least Luffy doesn’t seem to have noticed his outburst, or else he might never live down his embarrassment. Luffy would ask _way_ too many questions. As he is, the straw hat is visible from the execution platform, bobbing up and down on the younger pirate’s neck as he fights his way closer. He’s nowhere near as close as Marco (whose pace is brutal, but only for the marines who get in his way), but he’s making steady progress all the same.

Despite the closing distance between them, Ace still can’t stand seeing either of his special people fighting for his sake though. He cringes when someone manages to actually land a right hook on Luffy that would be nasty for anyone other than the rubber man, and almost wants to look away when a squadron of marines barrage Marco with a sudden onslaught of bullets. He’d already had an outburst earlier trying to keep them (more specifically, Luffy) from coming to him, and he doubts another will work, but he’s considering trying again anyways.

But then, there’s an unfamiliar sound filling the battlefield, and he watches as Marco’s head snaps back in alarm. Ace follows his gaze to the ship once again, and what he sees almost makes him want to throw up.

Squardo.

The clash of a single large sword against two smaller ones.

The gushing red of what is undeniably blood, followed by the flare of a single blue flame.

And the shrill wailing of a baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -When Luffy says Myra “told” him that she was Ace’s daughter, I was kind of stretching the “Voice of All Things” concept, since we don’t really know what all it entails quite yet in canon. But hey, it could extend to babies, right? *sweatdrop* Anyways, think Doctor Who—when the Doctor is speaking to Stormageddon in the episode “Closing Time” and when Craig Owens asks how he can tell what Stormy is saying the Doctor replies “I speak baby”. Since Luffy doesn’t know what the Voice of All Things is, he probably thinks he speaks baby or something.
> 
> -Yes, I’ve been kind of skipping around in the Marineford arc so far to suit my needs. Yes, the Pacifistas have shown up at the battle as per canon, but I just didn’t have the energy to write those big hunks of metal since I really needed to get this chapter up. I’ve kept you guys waiting long enough! 
> 
> -Thanks to all who have commented so far, and if there’s anything specific you’d like to see in the future (whether it’s just domestic fluff or some super dramatic shit), then I’ll try to work it in if you mention it in a comment.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things...happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I’ve reread my writing for this fic like fifteen times now, and I’m still not satisfied with it. 
> 
> But, enjoy it anyways! 
> 
> And if you see any errors, point them out to me and I’ll fix them immediately.

“ _SQUARD!_ ”

Marco’s shout rings across the silent field of ice, marines and pirates alike too horrified to stop him from passing them by.

Ace, too, is petrified in his spot atop the execution stand, eyes wide as he watches Thatch push the Captain of the Maelstrom Spider Pirates away, only for Squard to immediately be shoved face-first into the deck by Marco. Even from across the battlefield, he can just make out the horrified stance Thatch has taken, looking down at and shakily cradling the red-washed bundle on his chest, which Ace now realizes is a _child._ A _baby._

Ace’s first thought is, obviously, _What the hell is a baby doing in the middle of a war?_ And his second is, _Are they okay?_

Marco looks concerned. _No,_ Ace thinks, _He looks devastated._ Like the Phoenix’s world has just been thrown out of balance and is unlikely to be righted again. All of this can be seen in the blond’s body language.

Shockingly, the moment Marco removes his hand from Squard’s head, the pale-skinned captain tries _yet again_ to incapacitate his target. While said target is still unclear, with too many people in the line of fire of his last attack, Marco is semi-catatonic and clearly unable to do much else but slowly lift his arms up to Thatch, let alone stop another attack. Oyaji seems frozen in a state of shock as well.

This time, an achingly familiar red and yellow blur steps in.

Disregarding the fact that he’d appeared out of nowhere, displaying a speed Ace hadn’t thought the teen capable of, Luffy’s expression is downright _feral_ as he pins the taller man back down with a single sandaled foot. “ _Don’t touch her!”_ The threat is barely a hiss, loud enough to be heard by a majority of the battlefield, and a chill runs down Ace’s spine, the hair raising on the back of his neck along with a thin sheen of sweat. Like a shockwave has just rippled across the field.

The feeling of Conqueror’s Haki is a familiar one, and this is undoubtedly it.

“So he was born with it like I suspected,” Garp murmurs from next to him. Ace just swallows. _Luffy can use Conqueror’s Haki_ , _too._

Across the icy planes of Marineford, countless marine soldiers and Whitebeard Pirates find themselves losing consciousness, until only the high ranking individuals of each group remain standing (with a few notable exceptions). The sound of guns and bodies alike clattering to the ground echoes disturbingly, and he can hear Sengoku exhale sharply from his other side, but all that fades to the background.

Ace’s eyes are pinned to the Moby Dick. Faced with the full brunt of Luffy’s Haki, the individuals surrounding the ship have all predictably fainted. The only ones left awake in that area are the commanders, Whitebeard, and surprisingly, Squard himself. The allied captains and their crews have been mostly spared thanks to being stationed on the outskirts, but this still leaves barely anyone left conscious to continue the battle.

Marco has still barely moved from his shocked position, only now his spine is ramrod straight, while Thatch has a hand on the first division commander’s shoulder, steadying him. The supposed baby is hidden from Ace’s view, but he can just barely make out a soft blue light from around Marco, and can only assume the man is using his Flame of rebirth. But that’s the million beri question, isn’t it? Who is he using his powers on? Whose blood was it that Ace saw? Thatch’s? Or…?

The thought comes to him along with a strong wave of horror, hoping against all else that it wasn’t the child injured, even though he has no clue whose it is.

At this point, the only thing he can do is hold his breath.

—————

Thatch has a firm hold on his shoulder, and they’re taking steadying breaths together as one, trying to stem the flow of panic lacing their auras. They’re unaffected by the sheer force of will that has just shaken Marineford to its very core, thankfully, but their hysteria is due to another cause.

Myra, also still mercifully conscious, perched in her dirtied sling, whimpers pitifully between them. She’s probably still experiencing the ghost of pain from a wound that _could’ve killed her, could’ve killed Thatch_ , but Marco doesn’t want to think about that.

He doesn’t think he’s ever been so grateful that she has his powers. Otherwise…

Well, Thatch has a haunted look in his eyes, and that’s telling enough. It’d been close, that’s for sure.

Squard had nicked a mid-sized gash across the top of Myra’s head, and would have gone deeper if not for Thatch’s intervention, his sudden burst of adrenaline to push the man away. Such a large sword was difficult to counter, especially if it was coming full on at one’s chest and laced with a bit of Haki. Hence why Myra was bleeding when Marco arrived, but the gash wasn’t as bad as it originally  looked, as head wounds often are, and it had healed itself quickly after that with a burst of familiar flame.

But that didn’t excuse Squard’s actions.

Just beneath the sheer panic and the fear, Marco can feel an intense rage simmering right in the center of his gut, and Thatch actually flinches when he sees it rise to the surface in the Phoenix’s eyes. Slowly, but surely, he turns to face the offender, the man who dared to attack _his_ daughter, _his_ family, _his_ nakama.

He’s glad that Ace’s little brother is holding the man down, or Marco would have attempted murder already. Squard struggles against Luffy’s pin, futilely pushing against the downward force of that sandaled foot, but nothing seems to work.

Marco watches Whitebeard finally come forward, kneeling vulnerably to try and level himself with his ally, while probably knowing full-well how slim the chances of the straw hat kid letting up on the man are.

“Squard, my son, what brought this on?”

The allied captain struggles some more, but Luffy just snarls again, accompanied by one of Marco’s growls, which makes the man freeze.

“Drop the charade already, Whitebeard!” He snaps, and the only thing stopping Marco from marching forward is Thatch’s hand still situated on his shoulder. “You made a deal with the Navy, didn’t you?! A deal to ensure that Ace and your Whitebeard Pirates would get out of this alive!”

The rage doesn’t die down, but a thread of confusion weaves itself into Marco’s thoughts, because _what the hell is he talking about?_

“Listen up, everyone! He’s lured us all into a trap!” Squard shouts. “I had no idea...But Ace is the son of Gold Roger!” The man pauses, breathing heavily while he gathers his next words, dipped in a thick cloak of contempt and hatred as he speaks to Oyaji. “I was all alone when you found me...It was because my cherished comrades, who I’d fought beside for so long...Were all killed by Roger!”

Marco can see Squard’s hands clench into tight fists where they lay beside his head. “I’m sure you know my hatred for Roger!” He gasps as Luffy’s foot suddenly presses down just that much harder on his back, but continues his tirade nonetheless. “You could have at least told me that Ace is Roger’s son...Told me of your plans to make Ace the next pirate king!”

Finally, the straw hatted teen looks up at Oyaji, confusion lacing his expression, along with something unreadable.

“Even then, you had already betrayed me!” The attempted-murderer says. “You let me become his friend, never knowing how you were mocking me! And that child!” Here, Marco’s rage swells, glare potent with murderous intent as it bores into Squard. “She’s Ace’s daughter, right?! I’ve heard the news from some of the crew! If that’s true, then she’s also Roger’s granddaughter! You’ve mocked me even more by allowing me to become fond of her!”

Marco can almost feel the collective intake of breath from the remaining Marine forces, the swivel of heads as over a hundred gazes fix right on his daughter. ( _All the way on the Saboady Archipelago, even more shocked exclamations fill the air as the residents of Marineford safely view the execution, for many had not expected this sudden turn of events, for the cursed bloodline to have already been continued so quickly._ ) He can certainly hear Thatch’s quiet _oh fuck_ as the cook finally lets Marco go, instead moving to cradle Myra closer to his chest in a futile attempt at privacy. But Marco doesn’t dare take a step forward yet, lest he set off a chain reaction of events he’d really rather avoid at the moment. And despite the rage still coiling tight in his gut, he senses Squard has more to say, unfortunately.

“And then your golden child Ace was captured! The Whitebeard Pirates are within the bay, while we allied crews are out there, along the shore...You traded away the lives of the forty-three captains of your alliance...In exchange for Ace’s life! The allied crews will be executed, while Ace and the Whitebeard Pirates are spared! You and Sengoku have already agreed on that, right?!”

So far, Oyaji has only remained silent, looking down at his ally with a tired expression. Meanwhile, Squard meets his eyes challengingly. “And what do you know? We came here for Ace’s sake, for Whitebeard’s sake...to lay down our lives, unaware of the deception!”  

His proclamation is followed by the sound of several more explosions going off, the screams of dozens more Pirates being laid to waste by the government’s weapons. Squard unclenches a fist to point in their direction.

“Just as he said, we’re the only ones the Navy is attacking! Those monsters are coming in from behind, and the left and right flanks are blocked by ice walls, meaning there’s no escape!”

There are many shouts of disbelief in the distance, but Marco pays those no mind as he watches Squard finally deflate. It’s like the fight has been taken out of him, and he looks away from Whitebeard and at long last turns his gaze to Marco and Thatch, and, extensively, Myra.

“It’s a miracle I even got a single hit in, with how guarded she is, but I’ll accept the consequences.” The Maelstrom Spider Pirate Captain looks Marco straight in the eyes, a defeated aura about him. Marco’s rage calms just a little at the change, finally understanding the cause of his actions, but it doesn’t disappear completely, even as Squard continues, “Kill me.”

Silence reigns as Whitebeard and the commanders’ gazes turn to Marco, while the rest remain pinned on Squard. 

Normally, this would be Oyaji’s decision, his responsibility to fix and forgive. But, in the end, it ultimately comes down to the fact that Squard’s target in his attack was _Marco’s daughter_. If it had been Oyaji, it would have been a different story, and Marco wouldn’t be the one trying to muster up the ability to forget their ally’s actions up until now.

As it is, Marco just turns his back to the man. He can’t find that forgiveness right now, and knows it won’t be anytime soon. But he also knows Squard doesn’t deserve to die for something he’s obviously been tricked into believing (because Marco knows, without a doubt, that Oyaji would _never_ sacrifice his allies in a ploy like that, and there has to be someone pulling the strings). “I can’t forgive you just yet,” He says, voice cold. “And I certainly won’t forget, yoi. But I won’t kill you, because you’re my brother, and you’ve just traveled down the wrong path. You only need to be guided down the right one again, and that includes knowing a child should never be held accountable for their parent’s sins, yoi.”

There’s a choked inhale behind him, and a whispered, “I-I’m sorry,” to which Marco gives no verbal response.

He makes eye contact with Thatch, and pointedly holds out his arms.

Something in the pompadour’d commander’s expression cracks just a little, like he’s disappointed. In himself. Marco is quick to remedy this. “You did a good job, Thatch. But I don’t want to put you at any more risk of injury, especially since you can’t heal, and the uproar from this will bring more enemies than you’re allowed to fight down on your head. It’s better off like this, yoi.” The cook’s eyes lighten just a little at that, but the disappointment doesn’t quite go away, and Marco’s sure that they’ll be having another conversation later.

Thatch carefully unwraps the sling from around himself, and helps Marco into it instead. Myra settles a little more against his chest, the whimpers finally silenced, and Marco brings a hand up to gently smooth a few bloodied strands of blonde hair on her head. Something else calms inside of him, knowing that she’s close again.

He turns back to the battlefield, where he can see a few Marines trying to stir their ranks into movement again, and feels more than a few stares in his direction as he adjusts the sling a little more tightly. He knows exactly what he’s going to do, now that Myra’s identity has been inconveniently exposed to the world at large. This had been a huge risk in the first place, so of course he’d had a back-up. He’s going to take a gamble with a few specific elements in his hastily-made plan, of course, but hopefully they’ll work out for the best.

 _I suppose,_ Marco thinks, as he takes his time transforming into his bird form, careful to keep the sling situated snugly against him, _this means I don’t have to worry about telling Ace the news._

And then, for the second time today, he dives off of the figurehead of the Moby Dick, and into the sky.

———————

Ace can’t breathe.

It can’t be. It really, _really_ can’t.

From the moment Squard’s words had reached him, he’d frozen in place, overcome by a numb wave with too many emotions to name.

The first had obviously been shock, because last he checked, _he had no children._ And he _certainly_ hadn’t slept with any women recently (Marco would castrate him with a rusty kitchen knife). Actually, he’d _never_ slept with one. Because this was _exactly_ what he’d been trying to prevent: another direct blood relative of Roger’s brought into the world, having to suffer the same miserable existence he did, maybe even the same _fate_. He would never wish that upon any child, let alone one of his own.

Which is why his second and most prevailing emotion above all others is one of _horror_ , as he watches Marco take flight, the small bundle that’s apparently Ace’s _daughter_ strapped to his chest.

Beside him, Garp starts from the trance he’d fallen into. Ace can feel the old man slowly turn towards him, and even through the haze of his emotions he can tell that he’s going to be in a _whole world_ of pain.

“BRAT!” Garp roars, immediately bringing down one of his famous punches on Ace’s head. “WHEN DID YOU PLAN ON TELLING ME I HAD A GREAT-GRANDBRAT?!”

Ace temporarily snaps out of the funk he’s in, distracted by the pain from the forming lump on his skull. “THAT HURTS, YOU SHITTY GEEZER! I DIDN’T FUCKING KNOW I HAD A KID EITHER!”

“ARE YOU TALKING BACK TO YOUR BELOVED GRANDPA?!”

“SO WHAT IF I AM?! I’M A PIRATE NOW! I DON’T HAVE TO LISTEN TO YOU!”

Quite abruptly, Garp is pulled back mid-punch by a _very_ annoyed Sengoku, and the Fleet Admiral is between the two rabid-like D.’s.

“That’s enough, you two! Garp, manage your damn family better!” The expression the seagull-capped man levels at the incoming Marco is troubled, from what Ace can tell. Ace has no idea what he’s thinking, though. If he were calmer, he could step back from the situation a bit and analyze what’s at stake, but as it is he’s too emotionally compromised to be thinking straight at the moment.

All he can do is hope that Marco makes it here.

And boy, does that realization sting. The realization that he wants to get out of this alive, that he even wants to live, if not to just get an explanation for this whole situation, but to at least be there for his daughter (and doesn’t _that_ sound odd, even in his head) when she has to face the shitty consequences of what is probably another one of Ace’s mistakes.

Garp is still growling off to the side, but his eyes are closed in what Ace recognizes as inner turmoil, and the second division commander swallows hard.

Ace turns back to face the battlefield, eyes once again finding Marco coming in fast. He can see that a few marines have come back to their senses down below, and, much to Ace’s consternation, are starting to shoot at the airborne Phoenix. His eyes widen, concerned by the fact that Marco _still has the baby attached_ , and shoots a spur-of-the-moment desperate look in Garp’s direction, just in time to catch the old Vice Admiral opening his own eyes. _I don’t want her to die here because of my own mistakes!_

Garp catches his look and snarls protectively. Sengoku shoots his colleague a glare that says _don’t you dare_. His adopted grandfather responds with his own, much more fierce glare, and says heatedly, “That’s an innocent child out there, Sengoku,” the Fleet Admiral’s fists clench, but Garp only continues. “A newborn child bears no sin!”

The two continue a tense stand-off. Ace can only watch, praying to whatever deities there might be out there, that they stop this. However unlikely that is.

He doesn’t know how old she is yet, but he hates that she has to experience such a war so early in her life. That she has to experience a war _at all._ Let alone one that they’re knowingly shooting at her.

He’d give anything for her to not have the childhood he did, scavenging in a dump filled with dangerous ragabonds who had no qualms stealing from a child, trying to feed himself and his brothers so they could live to fulfill their dreams. They’d gotten shot at plenty of times then, and he still does now, but that’s different because he’s an official, wanted Pirate now and they were (mostly) innocent children. He wouldn’t want that for any child no matter his own experiences.

As if his strings have suddenly been cut, Sengoku sighs deeply, bringing a hand up to rub at the bridge of his nose. Ace can only imagine the frequency of the headaches one might get from being around Monkey D. Garp twenty-four-seven.

The Fleet Admiral takes a deep breath, sending Ace a long-suffering look. “ALL UNITS, CEASEFIRE!”

Almost immediately, the shooting tapers off, leaving Marco to fly freely through the air. Ace drops his shoulders in relief, releasing the breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

Only a few agonizingly slow moments later, Ace watches Marco land gently on the edge of the execution platform, shifting quickly back to human form. The expression on his face is cold when his eyes land on Sengoku, colder than Ace has ever seen him, but he nods to the man respectfully nevertheless. When that gaze shifts to Ace though, Marco’s eyes light up in unending warmth.

“Hey, Ace,” he says, sparing a small smile for his dark-haired lover. “Sorry it took so long to get here, yoi.”

Ace can only sputter uselessly at the blond. Why is _Marco_ the one apologizing?

“It’d be nice if they released you though,” Marco says, giving Sengoku in particular a pointed glance. “Then I wouldn’t have to butcher their soldiers with a baby strapped to my chest, yoi.”

That immediately makes their gazes snap to the baby in question, and their eyes widen upon finding her absolutely unharmed. Ace had thought that at least one of those bullets…

But no, in fact, the infant seems rather content to lay cuddled up in her sling, and her tiny head peeks just barely out of the blue cloth, revealing light downy blonde hair smattered with just a bit of blood. Large silver-blue eyes blink open, but her head is not yet strong enough to turn and face them, so those eyes strain to look at them through her peripherals, and Ace feels something in his chest melt just a little when one tiny hand reaches up to push itself inside her mouth.

“Phoenix,” Garp’s rough voice catches Marco’s attention. “What’s her name?”

Marco narrows his eyes at the old man, obviously wary, and pushes a bit of killing intent out in a warning as he gazes at him and says,”Portgas D. Myra.”

Ace almost chokes.

Garp nods, eying the first division commander steadily. “I see.” Then, without looking, “Senny, get the keys.”

“Garp!” Sengoku growls.

Garp the Fist doesn’t hesitate, finally pinning Sengoku with the glare of a man who could’ve been Admiral if he so chose, and those are the eyes that cow pirates of all calibers, that faced off against the Pirate King himself back in the day, dark and threatening. “Get the keys.”

Ace feels like he’s in some sort of alternate reality as Sengoku begrudgingly rummages around in his pocket and pulls out what is obviously the key to his seastone cuffs, handing them to Garp. An alternate reality where the marines are letting them go free, a ceasefire has officially been called, and Ace has a living, breathing _daughter_.

It’s like he’s in a trance as Garp unlocks the cuffs. He’s still staring at Marco as the gears in the lock click at last, and he feels the familiar heat of his devil’s fruit return to him, coursing through his veins. He flexes and unflexes his hands subconsciously, but all he can really focus on is the way Marco’s lips tilt up in a small smile, the way he can finally stand up and face the blond’s lazy blue eyes head-on like he’s been yearning to do again since he was captured.

He offers a tentative smile back, and is rewarded with a crinkle of the phoenix’s eyes.

“I’m going to kick your ass once we’re out of here, yoi.”

Ace blanches.

Garp laughs heartily, in another twist of reality, and comes over to clap Marco’s back harshly. “Take good care of them, you hear?” Marco nods. The older man turns one of his damn no-good smiles on Ace, one that makes him look eerily like Luffy. “And invite me to the wedding, brats!”

“LIKE HELL!” Ace roars.

Marco glares as Myra starts a high-pitched wail, while Sengoku sighs wearily behind him.

(What they don’t notice, as Ace wraps his arms around Marco’s neck from behind and the first division commander prepares to take off one passenger heavier, are the loud protests stemming from one particular eater of the Magu Magu no Mi, as Aokiji tries his best to hold the other Admiral back.

“How scary,” Kizaru says nonchalantly, making absolutely no effort to help while the man growls and tries to get around his colleague.)

————————-

“ACE!” Marco sighs as Ace releases his neck just in time for Straw Hat Luffy to come barreling into Ace’s middle, Squard apparently having been released from the younger’s grasp. The second division commander lets out a breathless _oof_ , but still automatically reciprocates the hug.

“Luffy…” Ace sighs exasperatedly. No matter how hard he tries to hide it though, Marco can tell there’s also relief in there.

The teen pulls back from his brother slightly, and Marco cringes at the wet mess his face has become, tears and snot everywhere as the boy lets out several loud, hiccuping sobs. “I…” _Sniff_ “w-was so worried!” He buries his face into Ace’s chest, rubbing it back and forth, and Marco imagines that must be a gross feeling to have right against your skin, but if anything, Ace seems more than used to it.

“Idiot,” Ace chides fondly, patting Luffy’s back and burying his face in the younger’s dark hair. “Don’t worry about me. I’m supposed to be looking out for you, reckless crybaby.”

Luffy nods, face still smushed in his big brother’s chest, until he suddenly pulls back. A large smile takes up most of his face, which is still quite damp, and he turns to Marco, eyes wide in happiness despite the previous tears.

“Ah! Ace, you need to meet your baby!” And just like that, Ace tenses, eyes darting back and forth between Marco and his younger brother nervously. Almost like he knows what Ace is thinking, the straw hatted teen catches his brother’s wrist in a tight grip, and drags the second division commander closer to the sling situated across Marco’s chest.

Luffy leans in to look at the infant, smile widening even more when he finds sliver-blue eyes staring back at him. One tiny hand reaches up to grasp at the air, aiming to touch the teen’s face, and Luffy almost obliges, until Marco pushes his face away with a pointer finger right in the middle of his forehead. “Go clean up a bit more. Your face is filthy, yoi.” In fact, he can see an almost visible layer of grime coating the kid’s skin. He’s covered in small wounds from the battle, but he sure didn’t collect all that dirt just from Marineford. He probably gained quite a bit of his filth from his apparent traipse through Impel Down, if the concerned looks he can feel a certain Okama shooting them are to be believed.

The teen pouts, giving Marco some of the biggest puppy dog eyes he’s ever seen (bar his totally biased opinion of Ace’s own puppy dog eyes). But no. No matter how persuasive those eyes are, he won’t give in. He _won’t_ . He doesn’t want any of that filth near his daughter, even if she _can_ heal herself just in case she’s contaminated, and he wants even less for the younger pirate to collapse from his injuries, or risk getting an infection.

“I have to feed her anyways, yoi. Ace can come with me while you go get yourself cleaned and checked.” Marco says, giving both brothers a knowing look. He sees Bay out of the corner of his eye, making her way back onto the main ship, and points in her direction. “Bay will take care of you, but don’t bother her too much or she might inject you with some questionable substances to keep you cooperative, yoi.”

The puppy dog face disappears, and Marco inwardly sighs in relief. Luffy nods brightly, bouncing away to go follow Bay, probably totally disregarding his warning.

Oyaji seems to have been dragged away by a few of his nurses as well, no doubt to go lay back down and rest, while he can see Thatch helping a few barely-conscious crew members onboard.

Which leaves Marco and Ace alone.

Ace shuffles nervously, avoiding eye contact. Marco sighs, feeling Myra squirm against him, and takes Ace’s wrist gently. “Let’s go to my room, yoi. I’ll do a check up on you there once I’m done feeding her.”

Ace follows obediently, but doesn’t say anything as Marco leads them down the familiar corridors to his personal quarters. It feels nostalgic, having Ace back again, even though it’s only been a few months since they last saw each other, and his body feels a little warmer with the dark haired man finally, _finally,_ back home. As they reach his room, and he opens the door to the familiar sight of his cluttered desk, unmade bed, and the new, homemade cradle (courtesy of the shipwright division) tucked into the corner, Marco hears Ace swallow nervously.

Marco takes the chance to usher the fire-user in, and makes his way over to the bed to sit down, already beginning to undo the sling and carefully cradling Myra in the crook of one arm. Ace watches him, and eventually ends up taking the chair by the desk.

As Marco gets Myra untangled from the sling, revealing the bright yellow onesie she’s dressed in (a gift from Izo), he can hear Ace clearing his throat awkwardly, attempting to find the words to say what he’s thinking. “I...How did you find her?”

Marco looks up at him, expression puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Ace runs a hand through his hair, wincing when his fingers snag on multiple tangles, matted with what might or might not be blood. “Did...Did someone give her to you?”

It clicks in his mind what Ace is asking, and he grins ruefully, shaking his head. Ace’s face contorts in what is obviously confusion.

“She’s ours, Ace,” He says, and watches his lover flounder to try and make sense of what he’s just said. “It might be a little hard to take in,” He pauses. “But Lucy said that it’s possible for male devil’s fruit users to...have children of our own, yoi.”

Evidently, Ace still doesn’t get it. And really, who would, on the first try? Even Marco sometimes has trouble believing that this is reality, that he has a _child,_ a daughter that’s _his_ in flesh and blood.

And Marco is the one who _gave birth._

He can’t imagine what it’s like for Ace, trying to figure this situation out, find a reasonable explanation for it that doesn’t make him sound like he’s just been knocked overboard with one of Oyaji’s punches straight to the head five times in a row.

“Ours…?” Ace finally says, trying the concept out. There’s a skeptical expression on that freckled face that makes Marco’s smile turn fond.

“Yes,” He replies, pointedly removing the open purple cardigan from his shoulders and letting Myra settle into place for feeding time at long last. “Ours, yoi.”

Ace just stares.

Myra continues suckling happily.

But Ace just continues staring. And staring. And _staring_.

Marco rolls his eyes and covers one of Myra’s ears for what he knows is coming.

“WHAT THE HELL?!”

Marco sighs as Myra begins to whimper, and pats her back rhythmically. He sends the dark-haired male an unimpressed glare, but Ace is too hysterical to even notice.

“Men can’t _have babies_ , Marco! Not like—like whatever you’re implying!” As if a thought has suddenly occurred to him, Ace turns to him, and is suddenly much closer than he was, almost crowding Marco so that he has to lean back to avoid being head butted. He’s quite baffled when the other raises a hand to press against his forehead. “Oh god, did you get hit with something weird out there?! Do you have a fever? Maybe you need to go see Bay!”

Marco pushes Ace’s hand away, exasperated as the second division commander begins to dramatically work himself up even more.

“I mean, what if we _both_ got hit with something out there and we’re _hallucinating_ that we have a daughter?! Did you ever think of that?! This could be someone’s Devil Fruit ability, for all we know!” The Mera Mera user throws his arms into the air, flourishing them to and fro around that dark haired head as he begins to pace through the small space. His eyes are bright with hysteria, panic interlaced in those sharp silver eyes. He turns back to Marco, hands reaching out again to this time cup both of the blond’s cheeks in the palms of his hands. “Just think about it, Marco! That baby you’re holding might not even be real!”

Something protective sparks in Marco’s chest at those words, and a low growl comes from between his lips. “Ace,” He says sharply. The fire-user holds eye contact, and the Phoenix makes sure to let some of his emotions leak between them. “She’s as real as you and I. The pain I went through in delivering her sure as hell can’t be hallucinated, so don’t you _dare_ tell me that our daughter _isn’t real_ , yoi.”

The second division commander flinches. Marco feels only slightly bad about that. Being straightforward is the only thing that works with Ace on these matters, and getting him to snap out of his hysteria is priority.

“She’s ours. In flesh and blood,” he states firmly. This time he scoots over on the bed a little, careful not to disturb Myra, and pats the space beside him. Ace obligingly sits, though still nervous, head bowed. “None of us knew, before you ask. I never showed, and I barely displayed any of the symptoms women usually go through, yoi.” Marco looks down at the blond head fondly, smoothing his hand across her back as he switches her. “She arrived three weeks ago, and we tried to contact you afterwards until we found out you were captured. And it’s sure as hell been rough without you, changing all those dirty diapers.”

Ace chokes out a short laugh.

“Ace,” the fire-user looks up at him, pinning those big grey eyes on him, mouth turned down in a self-depreciating frown. “None of this is your fault, yoi. So wipe that look off your face and listen to me.” Ace takes a deep breath, ready to protest, but Marco cuts him off. “No. _Listen_ , for once, you stubborn brat. Use this defeat to grow, to become more. For us, your family; for your little brother, who looks up to you; for your daughter, who needs you to _live_ and teach her as she grows up. I don’t care that you failed to beat Teach, and neither does she. We can take care of that later, as a crew _._ All we care about is that you’re alive, here to stay.”

The dark-haired man shields his eyes with his hair, clenching his hands tightly in the familiar tattered shorts. When he looks back up, those eyes are determined, with more life and fire in them than Marco has ever seen from the man.

One of Ace’s hands takes his free one, clasping it firmly. “I’m going to live, Marco. I’ll support both you and...Myra, no matter what.”

Marco stares intently into silver-grey eyes, sharp with promise. Something in his chest that he hadn’t realized was there loosens considerably.

“I’ll hold you to that,” He says, sparing a small, genuine smile for his lover. A light tint rises in Ace’s cheeks, and Marco chuckles. “Oh, and before I forget,” Myra interrupts him with a coo, and he obligingly lifts her, at the same time reaching across for a spare rag on his bedside table. The infant settles on his shoulder, his hand patting her back firmly. Ace watches them with a somewhat unsettled expression. “Until we figure out a suitable contraceptive for our situation, no sex.”

Immediately, Ace’s face goes up in flames (not literally, thankfully), and he reaches up to shield himself with his hands, completely mortified. At the same time, Myra burps loudly from her place on Marco’s shoulder, and a small amount of spit-up soaks the rag.

“I think that was the last thing on my mind,” Ace groans. When he lowers his hands and sees the spit-up, he wrinkles his nose a bit, but regards Marco painstakingly all the same.

“Good, yoi,” Marco replies. “I don’t want to risk getting you pregnant, because it would kill you. And, well, not that I would mind another kid, but it is rather early, yoi.” His tone drips a bitter sort of amusement.

“Wait, hang on a second,” Ace interrupts, brows furrowed. “What do you mean? Why would it kill me? You seem perfectly fine.”

Marco sighs, then starts to shift Myra towards Ace. “Here, take her for a moment, yoi,” He says. The freckled man has that panicked expression on his face again, but Marco nevertheless adjusts his arms easily, until he can set their daughter in her other father’s hold for the first time, properly supporting her head and body. The baby’s eyes are starting to droop, as they usually do post-feeding, and Ace’s warmth is probably helping put her to sleep.

He moves to his closet, pulling it open to reveal a stack of tiny onesies beneath his normal attire, and rummages through the stack until he finds the one he wants. Another yellow onesie, this time of a softer fabric and paler color. Turning back around and seeing Ace look wholly uncomfortable with the small being in his arms, but still infinitely _right_ , makes a large grin bloom across Marco’s face and his heart melt with fondness. He crosses back over to them, and carefully directs Ace on how to lay the infant down on the bed.

“A-Are you going to change her diaper?” Ace asks, a little nervously, eyes flicking to the door in obvious thoughts of escape.

Marco chuckles. He tickles Myra’s bare belly with his fingertips as he unzips her current onesie and she gurgles sleepily beneath him. Ace just stares, seemingly fascinated by the sound. “No, not yet. But Izo just gave me this jumper this morning, and he’d kill me if it got ruined right off the bat, yoi. So we’re switching her into something else.” Marco gives Ace a knowing look, then holds out the new yellow outfit in his hand. “Why don’t you do it, yoi? I’ll go get some more supplies from my closet.”

Again, that panicked expression. Ace’s eyes are wide with his insecurity, and Marco smiles gently, reaching up to cup the back of his head.

“You’ll do fine, yoi. Just don’t suffocate her,” With a soft squeeze of the other’s neck, he stands to once again rummage through the back of his closet. As the Head Doctor, he keeps a spare med kit handy just for the occasions he needs to be alone with Ace when the hothead goes a little too far on the battlefield, but doesn’t want to make the trip to the infirmary to be nagged by Bay. He’s thankful that he’s kept it all this time, because this is certainly just the occasion. “And to answer your question: yes, you will die if you...have a child like I did. Lucy knows more about this than I do, but apparently most male Devil’s Fruit users die immediately after giving birth, yoi. Their children inherit their powers. The only reason we could come up with that I _didn’t_ die, is that it has to do with the nature of my fruit.”

Marco watches, kit in hand, after he says this, as Ace slowly, carefully gets Myra into her pajamas. The hothead’s brow is furrowed like he heard the explanation, accompanied by the stubborn stiffening of his back, but he’s either too concentrated on the task at hand to respond or just can’t come up with a decent reply. Marco’s grin widens.

“You’re a natural, yoi,” He says teasingly, setting the medical kit down next to the infant as the second division commander slowly zips the onesie up. Myra’s eyes are practically closed in contentment.

Ace groans, grasping his own hair again with a single hand. “I’ve never even held a baby before!” He admits, looking up at Marco desperately. “Now I’m apparently a father? How the hell did this happen?”

Marco raises an eyebrow, smirk touching the corner of his mouth. “Do you really want me to answer that, yoi?”

“Fuck, please don’t.”

He remains silent, smirk still present, then reaches down to pick their daughter up again. Bringing the babe to the crib in the corner, he sets her down so he can swaddle her with the blanket inside, watching as the girl’s eyes finally droop all the way closed.

When he looks back up he can see that Ace has laid down on the bed, sprawled carelessly across the covers. His expression is contemplative as he watches Marco put Myra down for her nap.

“That...didn’t seem too hard,” Ace says haltingly, almost hopeful at the prospect of easy parenthood.

Marco huffs. “Only because she woke up at dawn this morning, yoi,” He says, finally opening up the med kit while already assessing the man in front of him. “She was too tired to stay awake much longer.”

“I...see.”

He eyes the freckled man for a moment, making him twitch nervously under the blond’s gaze. Then, reaches out to playfully ruffle that unruly dark hair. “You’ll learn.”

That makes the second division commander huff, crossing his arms and sticking his lower lip out in a pout, and Marco has to physically restrain himself from leaning forward to kiss said pout right off that face. He’ll wait until after Ace has brushed his teeth for the fun part.

For now, Marco thoroughly checks and cleans each of Ace’s wounds, equipped with a cotton ball dipped in disinfectant and his flames. Despite not having any big, gaping wounds ( _thank god_ , his mind supplies), there are plenty of cuts ranging in depth. Dark bruises litter freckled skin, yellow and green and freshly purple from the marines’ harsh treatment. When he feels along Ace’s torso, the man flinches when his fingers touch tender ribs, and Marco can surmise at least one is broken as he applies his flame. It’s lucky that Ace doesn’t have a pierced lung, or else the younger would already be dead. When he carefully turns his patient over, feeling along and treating the wounds in his back, he can actually feel how one of Ace’s vertebrae has been dislocated slightly, and the younger man groans as he carefully resets it.

All in all, Marco is amazed Ace can even keep a straight face, let alone stand up and walk around, with the massive amount of pain he must be in. Granted, these D’s tend to have a pain tolerance that boots a normal human’s straight out a window and into the ocean, so he’s not entirely surprised.

He uses his flame in the areas that need it first, like the ribs and back, then also applies it to some of the deeper cuts. When he’s done, he turns Ace onto his back again, and makes a note to grab some more pillows from storage for the man to make his ribs more comfortable. Marco’s flames may accelerate healing, but that doesn’t mean the injuries will be better immediately, so it’s important to rest until then. He tells Ace this, and the younger man makes a face that implies he’d like to protest, but settles for snuggling deeper into Marco’s bed and rolling his eyes.

“Yes, mother,” He says. Marco can feel his eyebrow twitch in annoyance. _Little shit._

“I may be someone’s mother, but I’m certainly not yours, yoi,” The weariness of the day, no, _week_ , is clearly taking its toll on Ace, because he can see the other’s lids begin to drop just slightly. Which means that sleep is not far off. Marco leans forward to gently press a kiss on Ace’s forehead, whispering with exasperated fondness, “I’m glad you’re home, though.”

He watches an exhausted smile pull at those freckled cheeks as he rises, and returns the gesture.

“I’m going to check on your brother, yoi,” Marco explains, heading for the door. He’s not sure if Ace even hears him anymore, but tacks on anyway, “If Myra wakes up, just yell and someone will come put her back down. But don’t you _dare_ get up, Ace, I’m warning you.”

The only response he gets is a slurred, “Yeah…” before anything else said tapers off into a loud snore.

As he closes the door behind him, starting towards the infirmary, Marco realizes belatedly that his grin is still stubbornly present on his face, and it might just get stuck that way.

He can’t really bring himself to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me forever to write all the emotions in this chapter, I swear. I don’t feel like I completely encompassed all of what Ace was feeling in reaction to the news either, but I’ll probably come back and edit, meh. 
> 
> I have three nephews all under age 3, so I got most of the info about Myra’s daily routine from real-life experience of babysitting and what not. 
> 
> Also, you KNOW Garp would leap on the chance to protect another prospective grandchild (prospective marine, more like, lol) despite the execution and all. Seriously, in canon, after all the shit that’s happened with Ace, I believe Garp would do everything in his power to stop something like Marineford from happening with his grandkids again, and you can’t convince me otherwise. 
> 
> Thank you to all those who have commented and reviewed! Your support helps motivate me to write more of this, and I can’t put into words how much I appreciate all of you.


End file.
